Everything's An Illusion
by TheRebelFlesh
Summary: With Annabeth gone, Percy is spiraling out of control and nobody seems to notice. Nico, on the other hand, should be getting better. He has Will, after all. But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden. They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?
1. Everything's An Illusion

***minor rewrite posted 02-28-16***

 **So for about the third time, this story has gone through some revisions. What was once going to be an in-depth study of all the Seven has turned into something that focuses more on Percy and Nico. I spent nearly 2 months trying to iron out a Piper chapter, and just couldn't get it to a resolved place. It was always too short and too...boring?**

 **I promise I'll go into more detail with other characters that I've neglected in the past though. All my ideas are still going to stand, I just realized I won't be able to focus entire chapters onto certain characters.**

 **Hazel is still homophobic, Solangelo still sucks, et cetera, et cetera.**

 **Hope you still enjoy, and leave a review if you have any questions, comments, or concerns.**

* * *

 **PERCY**

 **Everything's an Illusion- Mayday Parade**

I've never been one for rules. My track record certainly speaks to that fact.

I've been expelled from more schools than I can count, for starting fights, for mouthing off to teachers. I usually never stayed in one place for more than a year, and it showed in my dittoingt lack of mortal friends (especially seeing as Rachel no longer counts).

I've even been expelled from Goode. Apparently I'd missed too much school between all those months spent in Hera's sleep or as a Roman or on the Argo II or in Tartarus or fighting another fucking war. Not even Paul had been enough to keep me there. My expulsion was completely out of his hands.

It made me sad that I couldn't go back there. I'd made a promise to myself (and to my mom and Paul, for that matter) that Goode would be my last school, that I'd spend my junior and senior year there with the few mortal friends I'd been able to make and keep. But now that was fucked up. I hate letting my mom down…again…

All I ever do is let people down. All I ever do is get in trouble. All I ever do is fuck up.

And this…this was my latest fuck up, my latest edition to a long list of bad decisions. It could get me in trouble on a lot of different levels.

Not that I really care anymore, I think to myself as I eye the three-quarters empty bottle of clear liquid in front of me. Not empty enough though. I still have a ways to go.

I take another swig and grimace as it burns the back of my throat. I've gotten used to the pain though, and the unpleasant taste. After all, the end result is always worth it: a beautiful numbness and possibly a dreamless sleep.

All this, just to take the pain away for a night. All this, just for a little sleep.

I know that it's wrong, that it'll only hurt me. Living with a raging alcoholic should've taught me that. I'd lived for years in that tiny apartment with Gabe. I still remember the smell of stale beer and smoke that permeated my childhood home. And then there were the really bad nights, the nights when that asshole lost his paycheck in a poker game, the nights when my mom was stuck working extra shifts to make up for the check he'd lost the week before. On those nights, I was left alone with him. I remember them too well. His hot, alcohol scented breath, the crash of beer bottles hitting the tile floor, the harsh sting of a slap across the face. Those nights were the worst, and they still invade my nightmares from time to time.

You'd think all that would've made me hate alcohol. And for the longest time, I thought it would. It had never interested me before, as it had never seemed like a viable option for my problems. Talking to people was usually good enough to help me figure out the things I couldn't work through on my own. I tried not to bother or worry my mother too much, so I would mostly talk to Grover…or…or Annie…

But now…now I need this. I need it so much because I have no other way to deal with these emotions. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to help me understand how to move on and stop hurting. Deep down, I know it's not a solution. I know it won't bring her back, but it's all I have to make things better.

Without it, the dreams invade what little sleep I manage to get. Each night spent without a drink or two or three are torturous. I relive her final moments over and over in my nightmares.

All I see are her lifeless gray eyes, staring unfixed at some point in the distance. I see her pink lips bloodstained and parted, breaths rattling in her chest.

All I hear are my own raw throated screams, begging for her to hold on as I frantically searched for ambrosia. The sounds of the battle fade into the background, muffled by the dull ringing in my ears, the sound of my own pulse beating rapidly. I barely hear he desperate, whispered final words.

"I love you." My own broken, cracking whisper returns the sentiment to deaf ears.

All I taste are the metallic drops of blood on her lips as I kiss her a final goodbye before the earth begins to shake under me.

All I feel are Jason's strong, calloused hands pulling me away from her, my own slick with crimson blood. I feel the sting of the hot water on my cuts as the shower washes our mingled blood down the drain.

All I smell are the tendrils of acrid smoke wavering off her burning body, her shroud an unembroidered gray, just like the smoke. Just like her eyes.

The contents of this bottle…it gives me a respite from those memories. It stops them from repeating in an endless cycle in front of my eyes. Maybe it doesn't make things perfect, but it helps. It makes it just a little more bearable.

Does that make me an alcoholic? I guess, maybe. But I don't care. I need it.

Without it, everything is too much to handle. My heart hurts, but this dulls the ache. My new scars flare with phantom pains, but this takes those away. My eyes burn with stubbornly unshed tears, but this allows them to flow freely down my cheeks.

I feel nothing but grief and sadness, every moment spent fully conscious is almost impossible. I don't remember the last time I smiled, the last time I laughed or was truly happy.

Everything I see reminds me of her, from the campfire we used to laugh around, to the lake where we shared our second kiss, to the trails we wandered on fall afternoons, holding hands. It keeps me from leaving my cabin because I just know that the second I step out I'll be overwhelmed.

And then there's the campers. They're always staring at me and whispering amongst themselves. They wonder how I'm holding up, probably. But rarely does anyone try to talk to me. Most people keep their distance.

To make all of that worse, the days I leave my cabin are days I have to spend sober. It could dull the pain, sure, but I can't risk someone finding out about the drinking. At least I'm able to pass off the irritability and anxiety and tremors I experience when I'm not drinking as grief. Nobody questions me because their assumptions still stand.

So the days that I go outside…they'e getting fewer and fewer. I'm finder it harder to get up in the morning because most of the time I'm still hungover from the night before. And I was too scared to go home because I knew I wouldn't be able to continue this pattern there.

I feel like I can't move. If I go outside, I'll be flooded with memories and stares. If I go home, I can kiss my only vice goodbye. So instead I sit on my rumpled bed in clothes I've been wearing for at least two days, maybe (probably) more. I don't quite remember the last time I stepped outside or got something to eat.

Tonight, I find myself wondering what my so-called friends would do if they found me like this, a complete mess with a bottle in my hands. They didn't know how bad it was, they had absolutely no clue that I did this every night.

Jason and Nico would probably regard me with disappointed pity after seeing the supposed great hero fallen so low. Piper, Hazel, and Grover would be sent into a worried frenzy. Everyone else would be angry at me for doing something so stupid.

I wonder how long I'll be able to hide this from them, how long it'll take before someone barges in late at night, needing something, only to find me red-eyed and shaking in bed.

Surely someone will find out soon. It's been days since I last left my cabin and two weeks since the final battle with Gaia. You'd think people would have showed more concern. You'd think Piper or Jason would've stopped by to shake me out of my stupor.

In hindsight, I'm sure people have noticed…and I'd hope that they're concerned. They probably don't know what to do to help me or what to say to me. So they just do nothing. Sure, they offered their condolences in the beginning, and shed tears for their own fallen friend. But none of them quite understood what I was going through, so it was easier to stay away.

I don't pretend that they're not hurting. They lost a friend too, and they're probably dealing with their own lot of nightmares and PTSD symptoms.

But they have someone to help them deal with the grief and pain this war has brought.

Piper and Jason…Hazel and Frank…they're all still together. I've even heard rumors that Nico was fooling around with some son of Apollo…Will, I think.

They all have a rock to help them through this hard time. They all have someone to find comfort in.

But I don't have that anymore. And part of me thinks that maybe…maybe I never will.

She was my everything. My past, present, and future.

We were going to move to New Rome and go to college. We were going to live long, happy lives free of the gods' bullshit. We were going to get married and have kids: Luke and Thalia.

I was going to make good on all those promises I'd made in the Cocytus. I was going to spend the rest of my life with the girl I loved.

But all that was gone. My dreams of a beautiful future with my best friend were destroyed by one stray blade I'd been too slow, too carless, to deflect.

Her body was burned up with all the rest of the casualties. Her ghost wanders Elysium, or perhaps she'd been reincarnated already.

She's gone. She's really, really gone.

All because of the gods couldn't give me a break. All because the fates were cruel.

No. No, all because of me.

I was too slow, too stupid, too weak to save her. Just like I was to weak to save everyone else.

I was never good enough before and certainly not good enough now.

Broken. Pained. Haunted. Blind. Dull. Useless. Drunk. Gone.

Without her, I can't find the courage to fight, to face the endless amount of days ahead of me. I'm stuck in a confusing world without my constant advisor, my much smarter other half. My confidant, the one I go to in a crisis. My rock, my soulmate.

Without her, I am nothing. I have nothing. I will never have anything.

So I raise the bottle, now mostly empty, in some sort of twisted salute. A whisper tumbles past my lips before the shadows rush me and my head hits the pillow, fingers still wrapped around the bottle.

"I miss you Annie."


	2. Hurt

***minor rewrite posted 02-28-16***

 **I bring you more unhappiness because that's all I can do with my time, apparently. I hope you all like reading this.**

 **So here's my version of Solangelo, where everything is shit. I haven't quite decided how this plot thread will end though :P (but I think I've decided against Percico, because I write too much of that and I need to diversify)**

 **Also, just with the concept of this story alone, I think trigger warnings are ubiquitous. So, y'know, be aware.**

* * *

 **Nico**

 **Hurt- Johnny Cash**

People tend to have this misconception about being suicidal. They think it's all razor blades and standing on bridges, threatening to jump. It's all big, grand decisions and people pleading for you to get help.

But no, it can be as simple as thousands of little decisions, building up into dangerous behavior that nobody seems to take seriously.

It's the decision to forgo food even though you hadn't eaten all day, and probably wouldn't eat all night either. It's starving yourself without really understanding why.

It's staying up for days on end because you couldn't bring yourself to sleep unless you're literally about to collapse. It's making that decision despite the fact that you know you'll expend a disturbing amount of energy fighting other peoples battles in the coming weeks.

It's chain smoking until your feel like you're going to vomit, except there's nothing to throw up, just bitter stomach acid that stings your throat.

It's launching yourself into battle for the fate of the world knowing that you were barely holding on as it is. It's hoping that the next monster you clash with will deliver the unceremonious final blow, and you'll bleed out on the battlefield like you were destined to.

It's not caring about all those things, not caring when you draw your sword that it might have been your last time seeing the stars or your sister or the boy you were still secretly in love with.

It's an overwhelming numbness, a cold distance from anything remotely happy.

That's been my life for five years. Once the pain of losing Bianca faded to bitter memories, I was left without feelings. I didn't care about my life because nothing seemed to make me happy.

But despite all of that I never held a blade to my thigh with the intention of dying, only with the intention of feeling something, anything. I lived instead for the rub of rough, tight denim against the cuts.

I always fought, though I never understood why. I always kept going no matter how much I hated my place in life, no matter how convinced I was that I could never change it. I lived with the knowledge that someday I was going to die, and that that day was going to come a lot sooner than it should. I lived knowing that, if it ever became too much to bear, I had a host of ways out. I doubted I would make it to 18 and I was fine with that; I wasn't meant to exist in the first place.

Even the introduction of Hazel couldn't help the numbness. For a second, I thought that maybe I would actually feel something for once, maybe I wouldn't need the blades or the cigarettes anymore.

I realized she would never replace Bianca, and that I was foolish to think she would. She would never accept all the awful things about me, being a child of the 40s herself. And because of that…I slipped into this indifferent towards her that was hard to stomach. It made me hate myself even more. I felt like I should love her…but I just couldn't. She didn't make me feel anything, and quite frankly, I didn't want to let myself. It would only end in heartache.

But I pretended, for her sake. I faked smiles and and told her about my day and made visits to New Rome because it made her happy. Not because it made me happy.

After the war, I planned on returning to my life as it had been before. I didn't exactly make plans to end my life per-say, but I knew that it was something I was agreeing to by making that choice. Going back to a life of wandering would just speed up the process.

I knew how sick I was. I could feel in in my bones, the overwhelming exhaustion and darkness that weighed on me. I knew that fighting would be the death of me, but I was convinced that nobody would change my mind. It's what I was used to, what I'd spent the past 4 years of my life doing. I couldn't change now. I couldn't be fixed; I couldn't be saved, not even by Hazel.

It was Will Solace that made my life brighter (no pun intended).

I'm sure we'd met before the Giant's War, but that hardly mattered when my first clear memory of him was a blonde idiot in pitch black face paint.

I was… intrigued to say the least, from that first moment on. His loyalty and sense of humor were endearing.

I couldn't deny that he was gorgeous either. Those messy golden curls, those big blue eyes, the adorable little freckles that dotted the bridge of his button nose. And his smile…it was fucking blinding.

It wasn't purely physical though. He was goofy and sweet and a social butterfly. He liked to joke around, but at the same time he was seriously dedicated his work as the best damn medic we had. He was a perfect demigod. He reminded me of Percy, in a way. Serious but funny. Sweet but fierce. Powerful but maybe a bit unsure.

It was that perfection that made me want to bolt. Even if he'd somehow inherited his father's disregard for gender in a romantic partner, he would never love me, right? We were polar opposites. He was one of the camp's golden boys, I was the outcast that would rather be alone. It was no use even entertaining the idea of a relationship. I didn't want to end up in another Percy situation; I couldn't handle that again.

So you can imagine my distress when he forced me into the infirmary for 3 days and 3 nights of constant medical attention and prodding. There was no protesting with Will "Doctor's Orders" Solace; he was nearly as stubborn as me.

I tried to keep my head down and follow orders for now, knowing that in 3 days time I could go back to my normal routine. I didn't plan on getting close to Will because I knew it would never amount to anything. But things never go as planned, especially for me. No amount of aloofness could combat Will's persistence.

I knew I was in for a bad time just sitting there in an annoyingly thin and breezy cotton hospital gown. Will's teasing bedside manner, his bright smile, his constant need to touch me (which he rationalized as medically necessary); it was all too much. I thought I would be able to ignore it and just spend my time catching up on sleep, but I was wrong.

He was always there, and it's not like he didn't have other patients to tend to. The infirmary was packed with rollovers from the final battle with Gaea, and the children of Apollo were busy enough as it is. But Will was always found time to spend with me: constantly berating me for the way I treated my body, fussing over the state of my infected werewolf scratches, nagging when I didn't finish dinner. He did in a joking manner, I think, but there was always this air of seriousness behind it, like he really did care about my well being.

Of course I found myself once again falling head over heels in love (or was it lust?) with a (probably straight) guy that I barely knew and that was way, way out of my league.

But, as it turns out, Will wasn't straight. He was (along with practically the entire Apollo cabin, apparently) pansexual, and didn't really care about a potential partner's gender. That had been a real shock, especially because he'd revealed it in such a nonchalant way. He was already out to the camp, and save for a few assholes here and there, totally fine. Meanwhile I was sitting there unable even say that I was gay out loud. Hades, I couldn't even think about the word without getting uncomfortable.

That was the moment it became something more serious than a crush. Will liked boys, unlike Percy. Knowing that I was one of his preferred genders was…an odd feeling. It should make me feel hopeful, but I was still so convinced that he would never be interested in an unattractive, self destructive fuck up like me.

It turns out I wasn't out of his league either.

After many conversations, he'd remarked that he was sick to death of my self depreciation. I was a son of the Big Three; I was insanely powerful and a talented sword fighter; I'd turned the tides of the Battle of Manhattan by recruiting my dad; I'd saved the world by bringing the Athena Parthenos across the Atlantic. He thought I was a hero, on the level of the grand Percy Jackson himself. Now that had made me blush like an idiot. I couldn't even argue with him because nobody argued with Will.

But just because he respected me as a hero didn't mean he liked me in the kind of way I had in mind.

You could say we became friends after that. We hardly had a normal friendship, and Will's persistence was to blame, really. I would be much happier spending my time alone, but he wasn't about to let that happen. Usually he just ended up bugging me about my health and interrupting my training while I jokingly allowing it (and teasing him back).

A week after those 3 days in the infirmary he nervously asked me to go to the bonfire with him. I just stood there, staring open mouthed in shock, unable to speak. A cute guy was fucking asking me out to a very public function.

He panicked at first, thinking he'd misread my signals. But I was somehow able to recover, stuttering and managing to accept his invitation while blushing bright red.

One bonfire turned into two, then a third. I found myself hanging out with him everyday, and actually looking forward to it a little bit. I would even drop by the infirmary and help out, just so I could see him. At night, we would hang out in my cabin watching movies and do…other things.

In the span of a week, I found myself with a boyfriend. I could barely admit that I was gay, but I had a boyfriend. And it was…okay.

Will was just…I don't know, a good person. Better than myself.

He was fun to be around, always joking and laughing, trying to get me to play along. He was nice to everyone, even if they're weren't all that nice to him. He was patient and kind and just…great.

His touch was gentle, his kisses feather light, and he took every opportunity he had to tell me that I was beautiful. It took me a while to get used to the touches; I'd never liked being touched much. And being told I was beautiful…well, I didn't feel that way. I was too skinny, too pale, and too scarred for someone of Will's caliber.

But Will didn't care how much I protested and blushed whenever he tried to compliment me or kiss me. He was understanding, but told me that he hoped someday I would understand how he felt.

You'd think that having someone so amazing in my life would help me. You'd think it would make me a better person, that it would begin to remedy everything that was fucked up in my life.

Well it wasn't. It wasn't making anything easier. Honestly it might be making things harder.

It's almost nightfall, and I'm sitting on a rock in the middle of the forest, my hands shaking as I bring another cigarette to my lips. The ground around me is littered with spent butts and ash, remnants of my latest binge. I'm slowly but surely getting to the point where I felt sick and dizzy; that's always the goal.

I can't help but think of Will as I blow out a puff of smoke. He's been so adamant on me quitting but…but I just can't. He's the reason I should be quitting, but now he's the reason I'm out here right now.

He just…he just tries so hard and he's so patient, but it isn't working. It's been almost a while since he first asked me out, and I'm still no closer to being comfortable around Will than I was that first bonfire.

I'm still jumpy around him, and I blush like an idiot whenever he goes to touch me, even if it's totally innocent. I can't bring myself to be shirtless in front of him, even though he's seen my body before. And I can't even think about the thought of exposing…other things…

I close my eyes as a take another drag, imagining the look on his face when he sees my scars. Not the multitide of ones I'd gained in battle, the ones that crisscrossed my biceps and chest and stomach. No, the ones I gave to myself. The thin, disturbingly straight white and pink lines that run down the length of my skinny, pale thighs.

I imagine disgust. How could someone ever do that to themselves? Will was a doctor, he hated causing pain. But here I am, causing myself pain completely and totally on purpose. Maybe he could handle battle scars because they contacted bravery, but he would surely be disgusted by mutilation like this.

But maybe that's not the worst possibility.

I imagine tears running down his face. I imagine never-ending pity once he finds them. Poor, sad little boy. Poor maladjusted, sick fuck. He wouldn't be able to leave me, even if he wanted to. He would feel too guilty; he would be afraid I would do something drastic and permanent. And we would be stuck in this miserable relationship forever because he was too scared to leave me alone.

My anxiety spikes at the thought; I suck in more smoke. Constant, constant, constant. If I keep this up, maybe I'll feel better.

There's no reason for him to be into me. I have too much baggage; there's too much wrong with me for anyone to ever love me like I wanted. He can find someone much better.

I've started distancing myself from Will. I just can't deal with it any more. There's so much pressure on me to be better just because he's there. I have someone to love me, but it hasn't made a shred of difference.

And I think that's made him angry. I think I'm hurting him.

We fight a lot now because of it…and not like we used to. Those arguments were always over silly, petty things, and they were always over before the day ended.

But…these fights are still over silly, petty things. They're over things that I would have let go beforehand. Things were different now. I couldn't stand to have Will fuss over me or worry about me or nag me about my health because I didn't think I deserved it.

I snap at him, and things devolve into a full-on shouting matches with the both of us involved. Will, who always used to be so level-headed, takes on my short temper. I shout until I have trouble breathing evenly, until my eyes are red with stubborn tears. And then I run. I'm always the one to run, leaving Will dumbfounded in my wake.

It's a vicious cycle. I distance myself; we fight; I do unhealthy things because we fight; we fight more because I do those unhealthy things.

I flick the smoldering stub of my last cigarette to the ground, hopping off the rock and twisting my boot-clad foot over the remains.

I just need to let this go.

Before Will hates me more than he already does. Before the next awful, awful fight. Before I can't take it anymore.

* * *

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 **Feedback is a glorious thing. If you have any suggestions on sad shit, PM me or review!**


	3. The Devil in my Bloodstream

**And this story just continues to change. So after months of trying to work out an entire chapter for Piper that I was happy with, I gave up and changed directions. I'm still going to be incorporating the elements I'd planned before, but the story's going to be much Percy and Nico centric...because I'm a creature of habit, okay?!**

 **Also, I will continue to provide you a playlist of appropriately sad songs. I urge you all to look them up because they're amazing.**

 **But I hope you enjoy this chapter. I actually enjoyed writing this enough to ignore all of my other responsibilities :P**

* * *

 **Percy**

 **The Devil in My Bloodstream- The Wonder Years**

Pain and sadness seemed to be the only constant in my life. They were always there, occupying the back of my mind, hiding themselves in the farthest recess of my brain.

Joy, on the other hand, was so fleeting. It was isolated to just small moments. The hazy warmth of my father, my mother's smile, laughs shared with good friends.

Pain had this way of blotting out those good moments, making you forget those times when you were genuinely happy. Pain had a way of consuming you.

It all started with my childhood, I guess. You'd be hard-pressed to find a demigod with a perfect, happy childhood. It just didn't come with the territory. And really, I should be considered lucky. I had a mom that loved and protected me, and she was alive. That was more than a lot of campers had.

Still, there'd been the moving around associated with being a demigod made worse because I had a particularly strong scent. I was never able to make friends, much less keep them. I was always the weird new kid, the strange outsider. Rumors spread quickly about my delinquent tendencies, and the fact that I was prone to getting into fights only proved that. To them, I was someone to fear, not someone to be friends with.

Then there was Gabe. That man…no, that scrum…he made my life a nightmare whenever I was home. Broken beer bottles, shouting, degradation like I'd never known it before…the works.

I thought being a demigod had taught me pain too, both physical and mental. None of us had it easy, but I feel like I never got a break. I was thrown right into the thick of it, almost from the very moment I stepped across the camp border.

Every summer was spent fighting monsters and gods and titans, only just managing to hold off the end of the world for another year. I felt like I was only buying time with each passing quest.

Bottom line being that I thought I knew pain. I really, really thought I did. It'd been such big part of my life. By the time I was seventeen I'd fought in two massive, potentially world ending wars, felt the stress of being the prophecy demigod on two separate occasions, and lost more friends than I could count.

But I've never know this kind of hurt. Never, not once in the past six years had I felt pain this all-consuming.

Having to tell a ten year old kid that his sister was dead because of me hadn't hurt me like this. Watching Silena sob over Charlie's death (which only happened because _I_ hadn't been strong enough to save him) didn't hurt like this.

Bathing in the Styx didn't hurt like this. Even Tartarus hadn't hurt this much. Breathing toxic gas, drinking fire, drowning in poison, being burned alive.

None of those things made me feel this way.

Because during all those moments, all those times of pain and sadness, she was there.

She was my best friend, always there for me when I needed her in every capacity I could imagine. She was a logical advocate, a shoulder to cry on, someone to kiss until all the hurt faded away.

She was everything I could ever need or want. She was my smarter, better other half. She was my Annabeth.

Having her made it easier to hide the bad thoughts and feelings. She gave me happy memories to call upon when I needed to plaster a smile on my face. When I kissed her, my mind went clear.

But now she's gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

I close my eyes and the memories of the past few weeks crash over me, consuming me and leaving me catatonic. Disjointed images shuffle past, flying by in rapid succession.

 _The way her eyes widened as she was skewered by a drakon's sword, only a few feet away from me. The way she dropped to the ground in a heap, like a rag doll._

 _The scream that tumbled past both our lips lips. Jason shouting something unintelligible, dispatching the monster just as I dropped to my knees in front of her._

 _The sound of my own pulse and heartbeat roaring in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the battle._

 _My arms curling around her rapidly limpening form. Pulling her close, feeling the sticky blood soak through my shirt. Frantically searching for ambrosia, but finding none._

 _Her gray eyes, fearful but rapidly losing their clarity. Her pink lips, now stained with blood, parting with each shuddering breath._

 _Sobbing, begging her to hold on. Praying for an Apollo medic to rush in with a stretcher and save her. Please, please, please._

 _Feeling her hand go limp in mine, seeing her eyes go empty._

 _Knowing, just knowing, that it was over._

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the awful memories. It's been a month since the battle, and still I'm just as…bad…as I was the day after. They keep telling me that it'll get better.

But it's getting to that time of day again, when I'm left alone to sit in my room, in silent reflection. The sun is setting outside my window, and the campers are starting to settle down for the night. But I'm far from settling down.

My eyes wander to the bottle sitting on my dresser across the room. I haul myself out of bed and shuffle towards it, cracking it open and taking a sip.

I grimace at the taste and cough a little. Drinking straight gin is far from ideal, but it's all I have at this point. My supply line is pretty limited, so I can't afford to be picky.

Some shady Hermes kid started smuggling in illicit substances after the final battle. There's always been a tradition of Hermes camper lead smuggling rings, but to my knowledge they'd never been this illegal. I guess he figured that everyone was going to get seriously fucked up in the head and self medication would therefore be rampant. He was right, I guess. He seemed to be doing good business.

He deals almost exclusively in alcohol, as it's probably the easiest for him to get his hands on. He must have a fake ID and, since routine is kind of lax at the moment, he can find time to sneak off into the city. He buries his items in the woods and convinces some of the Ares kids he supplies to be his bodyguards. All you had to do was meet him in a specific spot in the woods under the cover of darkness, and he'll happily sell you something for the right price.

All he really stocks with any consistency is beer: the cheap stuff that came in cans and tastes like watered down piss. It was the kind of stuff Gabe used to drink when he didn't have money to spring for bottles, so of course I wasn't interested. The smell along was enough to bring up a cascade of memories I really didn't need.

So I buy up whatever else he has. Vodka, whiskey, rum, whatever. He ups the price of it because I'm the only one who buys it. Somehow he just knows that I'll pay anything for it, but I try not to let on to how desperate I am. Most of his customers come in groups and buy a six pack of the cheap beer to split between them. They're just looking for a little something to take the edge off. I, on the other hand, need something stronger.

I'm going to need to go back to him soon, I remind myself. I've gone through most of what I have on me over the past few days. I've been on a pretty bad bender ever since the anniversary of the final battle…and of…of…

I bite down on my lip, hard enough to draw blood. No, don't think about it. I take another, larger sip of the gin before capping the bottle.

I'll go tonight, I decide. Spending the day out is usually enough to appease Piper and keep people away from my cabin for a few days.

Yeah, that'll work. Maybe this time he'll have something I can stomach better.

My eyes wander across the pine dresser. It's a mess of dirty clothes, food wrappers, and a couple of empty bottles. I should probably clean up.

I toss some of the dirty clothes towards the hamper and sweep the trash into a bin. When I'm done with that, I'm left with a mostly empty surface.

Taking a shaky breath, my fingers brush the stiff cardboard. It held all the stuff that belonged to her. After…after it happened, I hadn't had the strength to go and sort through her bunk. I just couldn't bear it, seeing all her things, having her siblings eyes on me.

But Piper had been strong enough, apparently. She and Annabeth had become close during their months together, so she took it upon herself to take care of the task of cleaning out her bunks at camp and on the Argo. She came to my cabin with a small box of stuff she thought I might want, and told me that the rest of it was being stored in the Big House if I wished to go through it myself.

I haven't had the courage to look in the box yet. Every time I tried I just ended up breaking down and turning to alcohol. But I know I should be mostly sober when I do it. She deserves that much.

There's no better time than now, I thought to myself. I might as well try again. I grabbed the box and bottle of gin, carrying them to my bunk. I sat crossed legged, and took another gulp of the alcohol. I tried to steel myself, reasoning that if I got through this I could drown all the emotions in new (and hopefully better) purchases tonight.

Shakily, I reach my hand in and pull out the first item I touched. It was an architecture book, her favorite subject to study. Hazily I remember that this was one of the first books I ever saw her reading that first summer.

The next thing I pull out is her dog-eared personal copy of Homer's epics in the original Greek. The margins are stuffed with little notes in her neat handwriting; the pages are marked by sticking notes, probably pointing out her favorite quotes. This is the book she first used to teach me Greek…

I peer into the contents of the box, and find no other books. How did Piper know to pick these two books? I sigh and take another sip. This is the farthest I've gotten so far, and I wasn't going to stop.

Next I pulled out a couple of polaroid pictures. A younger version of us, maybe 13 or 14, smile for the camera. I remember these photos, they were from two summers ago. She'd taken such pride in refurbishing an old polaroid camera she'd gotten as a birthday gift from her dad. I didn't look at the pictures for long though, because I couldn't bear to look at us. We were so young; our eyes were so bright…We were so happy…

I take another sip, and begin to question myself. If I keep it at this rate, taking a drink after every item I pull out, I'll never make it out of the cabin.

I place the box on the floor and her things on my bedside table. Setting the bottle down for now, I curl up in bed, letting my eyelids droop.

When I wake up, groggy and with a foul taste in my mouth, it's night. I continue to lie there for a few minutes, trying to will away the nausea settling at the back of my throat. Slowly, I turn to face the alarm clock, pawing at the snooze button. It's green light glows in the darkness of my cabin.

I fumble for the light switch and manage to get out of bed, the promise of liquid salvation keeping me steady. I stumble to my dresser and toss on an old jacket, pulling the hood over my head in an attempt to hide my face.

Peaking out the window to make sure there's nobody watching, I slip out my door and make a break for the woods. It's past curfew, so there's always the risk of the harpies spotting you. But your safe from them once you make it to the forest.

Once I pass through the tree line, I stop for a moment to catch my breath. I uncap Riptide, using it as a light to guide me through the forest. It's a decent walk to get to the meeting place. He has to keep it hidden after all.

I catch sight of a small clearing in the woods and hide myself behind a tree, taking a look to make sure there wasn't anyone else buying at the moment. I only see two people, lounging against a rock with a small lantern resting on their ground between them.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," I hear his rough voice call out. I shake my head and come out from behind me hood, lowering my hood.

"Oliver," I rasp, regarding him with distaste. I really don't this guy, he's so…unnerving. He represents all the worst qualities a Hermes kid could present: slippery as a snake, weasel-like face, and a tendency towards illegal activities.

"Been a hard coupla days, huh? You look a little worse for the wear," he remarks, looking me up and down.

Wow, thanks for the reminder, I think dryly. I'm well aware that I look like shit. I've got bags under my eyes and I've managed to lose weight over the course of the past month and a half. I don't even remember the last time I took a proper shower or shaved.

I give him a cold, withering look.

"Aw, come on, just fucking with ya. Now what're ya lookin' for? The usual?"

He leans over the rock and pulls out two small bottle of whiskey and rum. Cheap stuff, but better than what I've been drinking lately. I wasn't lowering myself to beer, even if it would be a lot cheaper.

"Yeah, how much do I owe you?" I ask, pulling out my dwindling wallet.

"40'll take care of it," he replies, a wicked grin on his face. I grimace at this, tossing him two twenties.

"Y'know, beer would be a lot cheaper," he teases me, knowing full well that I wasn't buying.

I turn my back to leave, stuffing the bottles inside my jacket, but before I walk to far he stops me.

"I've got something else you might like, if you're interested," he calls after me.

I turn around and cock an eyebrow. Oliver brings up a hand and gestures for me to come back.

Once I'm back, he tosses me a small plastic baggie. Even with my slower reflexes, I manage to catch it. One look and I know immediately what it is.

"I'm expanding my business," he replies nonchalantly. "Gotta couple of Demeter kids supplying me. First samples free."

I narrow my eyes and look back at the baggie, then back at him. Is this really a good idea?

"C'mon, that's some quality shit. But since you're such a loyal customer, I'll throw in something extra. If ya ever want more, ya know who to come to," he says as he tosses me another little package.

"Thanks Oliver," I reply curtly over my shoulder as I walk away, pockets full of alcohol and something I wasn't exactly planning on (but that isn't entirely unwelcome).

Maybe pot would prove to be a nice change.

* * *

 **So I made an OC :P a son of Hermes named Oliver (lame ass reference, but whatever). He's not the best person, as you can probably tell.**

 **But if you enjoyed the chapter and have any suggestions, please leave a review!**


	4. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

**Remember that time Nico killed a guy? Like, no ifs and or buts about it. Like, 100% just killed a guy in cold blood. I mean, he probably deserved it, but still...**

 **Let's explore that, shall we?**

* * *

NICO

The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot- Brand New

I'm staring at a ceiling.

It's not even a particularly interesting ceiling. There aren't any cracks to memorize or tiles to count or any way to make this mindless action just a little less mindless. But I keep staring at the flat, black expanse because I can't tear my eyes away. Maybe if I keep staring, they'll stay open.

But deep down, I know it's pointless. For every minute that passes, my eyelids droop lower and lower. Sooner or later I'll have to succumb to the exhaustion that's been building over the past few days.

I'm going to have to sleep, and the thought alone fills me with dread.

Because sleep means an endless cycle nightmares. It means reliving every awful moment of the past few years in a surreal mixture. Disjointed imagery, slippery voices, and an all-encompassing darkness weave together whenever I close my eyes.

So I try not to let myself slip away. I stay awake as long as I possibly can, desperately latching onto anything that will hold my attention. I read until I get a headache; I draw until my hand cramps. When it gets really bad, I'm left to survive on coffee and pure willpower, unable to focus on anything long enough to properly distract myself.

I'm sure people think I at least attempt sleep every night, but in reality it's every other night, at best. I'm sure that, even with their own nightmares, other campers never take it this far.

I know that I should talk to Will. If I actually told him how bad my nightmares were he would send me to Clovis for some kind of sleep magic. He could make me something to lull me into a dreamless sleep. I'm sure they'd been getting requests lately from all the demigods that'd seen too much shit these past few months.

But I can't. I just can't. I'm sure Will knows that I have nightmares; he'd have to be pretty dim to think otherwise. Every demigod has them to some degree, even the ones who've never seen real combat. Nightmares are normal for people like us, and so is having the occasional bad night's sleep.

But I can't bear to stand in front of him, or anyone for that matter, and admit the sort of sick, twisted things I dream about. My nightmares aren't normal. I don't just wake up a little spooked and fall back asleep after 10 minutes of deep breathing exercises.

My eyes begin to water as my fear-stricken mind drags those memories back to the surface. Suddenly, it feels like I'm back in the Labyrinth, just a scared little kid with nobody to comfort him. The beginning of tears prickle behind my eyes as I'm flooded with the memories of my own screams for Bianca. I can almost hear them, high-pitched and echoing through the stony caverns.

I still miss her.

I miss her hugs and her lullabies and the crooning quality her voice held when she console me. I want her in this room with me. I want her to rub my shoulder while she tells me that everything is going to be okay, just like she always used to.

I miss Will too.

I want him in this bed with me, right now. I want him to hold me close and kiss me senseless. I want to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady. And maybe, just maybe, if he were here the nightmares wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could take them away. Maybe he could protect me.

That's what I wanted so desperately. It's what I _need_ , but what I'll never have.

Bianca is gone, and Will…I can't expose myself to him like that. I just can't.

I swallow hard past the rapidly growing lump in my throat and rub my face out of frustration, willing my eyes to stay dry. I can't let myself get worked up, not yet at least.

If I had the energy, I'd be able to do something to keep myself awake and focused on something else, anything else. I've spent the past two nights re-reading the meager collection of books I own, as evident from the mess strewn across my floor. They're scattered everywhere, but very few are stacked nicely. Most lay spine up where they were thrown from my bed out of anger. Focusing on the words had gotten harder and harder as the night wore on, and I'd abandoned the action a few hours ago.

At this point, all I can manage is lying on a rumpled bed, splayed out in only my boxers. My arm is draped lazily across my concave stomach; my fingers skim across icy skin made even colder by the frigid air of my cabin. Every so often they graze against an old scar or protrusion of bone.

I turn my head, and a twinge of pain shoots through my neck. It's probably from lying in this position for so long. Grimacing in discomfort, I catch sight of the alarm clock resting on my bedside table. The electric green numbers blink back at me.

2:30 in the morning.

It's a fucking miracle I've made it this long.

I'll only have time for 5-ish hours of sleep, if I can even manage that. Will is probably going to be banging on my door bright and early tomorrow morning, ready to drag me to breakfast intent on force feeding me.

I sigh and resume staring at the ceiling. I don't know how long I lie there, but it's getting harder and harder to stay awake. My body feels heavy, matching the sinking feeling in my chest. Every blink is longer than the last, and I know that it's coming soon. There's absolutely nothing I can do.

Eventually I blink for the last time.

…

 _I'm in the jar again._

 _This is how it always starts out. I'm alone and suffocating, slowly dying with no hope of rescue. My body is trying to collapse, legs and arms locking together as I curl further and further into a ball._

 _The only sound comes from my heartbeat; the rush of blood echoes through the small space. My breathing has already slowed to an almost nonexistent pace. Every so often, my lungs manage pull in what little oxygen is left in the thin air with a shaky wheeze. I no longer possess the energy to scream or claw at the smooth, earthenware surface._

 _I don't have the energy to open my eyes either, even though I know what I'll see if I do: my sword throwing off its tiny halo of light, the murky brown surface in front of me covered in hastily scratched tally marks. And, at my feet, not a single seed._

 _I'm out of seeds…and out of time._

 _With each passing second, my heartbeat slows._

 _Beat._

 _Fear spikes through my foggy mind. This is how I die._

 _Pause._

 _Alone and starved and terrified._

 _Beat._

 _No blaze of glory. No bang. Not even any pain._

 _Pause._

 _Nobody to save me, and no way to save myself._

 _Beat._

 _It's too late._

 _Pause._

 _Pause._

 _Pause._

 _Darkness engulfs me. Everything is silent._

 _…_

 _Eventually, sounds and smells sharpen from the indistinct darkness._

 _The scent of dust and blood invades my nostrils, so strong that I can taste it. The howls and brays of monster sound off in the distance, but they're muffled, as if they're far away._

 _Soft footsteps crunch across the dying grass. My heart skips a beat._

 _I don't need to look to know where I am, or what's about to happen. I remember this bleak landscape all too well._

 _"Open your eyes, child of Hades," a slippery voice whispers in my ear. Cold lips press against the shell, leaving behind a sticky residue._

 _I crack my eyes open and crane my neck to the side, swallowing hard. I catch sight of her._

 _Achlys, goddess of misery._

 _Blood, so dark it's almost black, is smudged under her cold eyes and smeared across her hollow cheeks. Pink-tinged tears make tracks down her chalky white face. Purple aconite and belladonna blossoms are woven into the tangled black hair that spirals down her back._

 _With a rustle of fabric, she's moving to my other shoulder with the fluid grace of a snake. Delicate hands run across my back and come to rest at the nape of my neck. Razor sharp nails graze the skin there, swirling in languid motions._

 _"Oh my little hero," she breathes in my ear. "Still full of so much misery and pain. And here I was thinking Aphrodite had given you a break?"_

 _I swallow hard and breathe in through my nose, inhaling the subtle scent of dust. I keep my mouth a tight line, desperate not to betray my emotions._

 _"She's gifted you with that Solace boy, hasn't she? Oh, even his name is just a delicious little pun," she whispers. A harsh, throaty chuckle slips past bloodstained lips._

 _"Solace…something that gives comfort and relief in the face of misery. But we both know that that's not true, don't we?"_

 _I close my eyes and shudder. This is new. She's never brought up Will before._

 _"He's a doctor, isn't he Nico?"_

 _I nod slowly, gnawing my lower lip._

 _"He lives to protect and heal, doesn't he Nico?"_

 _I nod again._

 _"Then how can he be expected to love a murderer?"_

 _My heart skips another beat._

 _"Do you remember Bryce Lawrence?" she whispers, voice filled with a renewed sense of venom._

 _My eyes fling open at the mention of that name, the one I've spent the past month trying to forget._

 _Standing only a foot away from me is Bryce, his face contorted into a gruesome grin, yellow teeth bared in a feral snarl. Eyes the color of pond scum and completely devoid of life, stare down at me. Its as if he's frozen in time, eternally peering down the bridge of his crooked nose._

 _Another rustle of fabric and Achlys is standing at the figure's side, giving me full view of her face._

 _Her thin fingers dance across his shoulder and run along his jawline, turning him into smoke with her touch. She continues until he's nothing but a spirit, swirling around the both of us, crawling up my legs, digging smokey claws into my flesh._

 _"You killed him, Nico," she coos, strips of black fabric slipping from her sloped shoulders. "And it wasn't even an accident; you meant every and every single action. You relished in it, didn't you? And for that, the Solace boy will never love you. Sooner of later, he'll see you for what you truly are…"_

 _I begin to shake, tears rolling off my eyelashes, down my cheeks, off the tip of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the droplets continue to leak. My breathing comes in shuddering gasps at this point, both from the main of this conversation and the monster slowly climbing towards my torso._

 _She takes my face in her cold hands. The pads of her thumbs brush away my tears; her long fingers massage my hairline._

 _"My own…little…monster," she simpers, drawing out each syllable._

 _She places a delicate kiss to my cheek, leaving a smear of blood in her wake._

 _I crumple to my knees and allow Bryce's spirit to suffocate me._

 _I deserve this. I deserve death._

 _I'm a murderer. I'm a monster. Will is never going to love me._

 _The last thing I hear before everything goes black again is Achlys' cackle, echoing in the darkness that has since consumed me._

 _I'm her monster…_

 _And I always will be._

* * *

 **Well damn...that was maybe a tad bit fucked up?**

 **My poor smol ghost boy...**

 **What did you guys think? How do you feel about the whole Achlys thing? I was thinking of keeping it as a recurring thing throughout the story, and especially in Nico's nightmares.**

 **Let me know what you think in a comment! And don't forget to check out the songs. This weeks is a real winner.**


	5. Vacant Home

**Sorry for the delay. Finals, papers, and Haikyuu! have destroyed any sense of creative productivity.**

 **But I'm asking an honest question: should this be Percy/Nico? Should that be the endgame? Because I'm really considering it, but not quite sure what I want to do. So please, please let me know in a comment if you want to see that!**

* * *

 **PERCY**

 **Vacant Home- Movements**

It feels like all their eyes are glued to me, boring holes through me. They watch me intently, some curious and some with sad eyes. A hush falls over the dining pavilion as everyone ceases whatever loud conversation they'd been participating in.

A few moments pass, and most people return to their food and conversation. Some continue to stare, but are obviously trying to pretend they aren't. Others whisper quietly amongst themselves as I pass. A younger kid, maybe 8 years old, points.

I don't blame them, really. I'm a rare sight around camp these days, so plenty of people must be curious. Most of the time I don't leave my cabin, especially not when there are so many people around. There's really no reason to, other than food. And if I'm going to both eating at all, Jason or Piper usually leave a plate by my door.

But I'm past due for an appearance, so here I am, stumbling into breakfast after just waking up. Strong sunlight beats down on the tables, forcing me to squint. I've become used to the darkness of my cabin, as the only light comes in the form of a lamp I rarely bother to turn on.

I shuffle down the long aisle to the far end where the food is kept, passing over the familiar crack in the marble.

My mind drifts back to that horrible memory of a 10 year old Nico. I remember it all: his tears after I told him Bianca was gone, his screams as he blamed me, the horrible sounds of the marble and earth splitting at his command.

I pick my head up and scan the tables for him, suddenly wondering if he's still here. He could've returned to the Underworld for all I know.

I don't remember the last time I talked to him, let alone saw him. I probably haven't sat down to have an actual conversation with him since the war ended…maybe even before that.

My eyes find him sitting hunched over in the farthest corner of the pavilion, along at the stone picnic table. His shoulders are curled in, like he's trying to disappear. He looks about as worn out and exhausted as me. Every so often his head dips, his chin bumping against his collarbone like he's about to fall asleep.

I grab a plate of eggs and turn towards the direction of his table, only to watch Will Solace swoop in next to Nico, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. Nico doesn't really react, instead continuing his indifferent stare after a very brief acknowledgment of Will.

Immediately I stiffen up, knowing that I can't sit with him anymore. I quickly take a seat at a nearby empty table, facing Nico and Will. I watch as Will leans closer and brushes the hair from Nico's face, long fingers tenderly stroking his cheek.

I drop my head and stare at my untouched, meager breakfast. I swallow hard past the rapidly growing lump in my throat.

So it's true then. I'd heard rumors before, but I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

Nico has a boyfriend.

Nico, the kid that was supposed to be perpetually alone, has a boyfriend. I don't even care that he's gay or bi or whatever he identifies as. I just care that he has…someone.

Someone to comfort him. Someone to hold him and kiss him. Someone to tell him that everything's going to be alright, even when everything feels like it's falling apart.

He has someone to love him, unconditionally and unequivocally.

Deep down I know that I should be happy for him. He deserves to have someone that cares about him, and I know that Will's an amazing guy. He's been around camp as long as I have. He's kind and dedicated and smart. He'll be good for Nico.

But I can't lie and say that I'm happy; I really can't.

I'm upset and angry and just…just…

I take a shaky breath and close my eyes. I can't really be thinking like this, can I?

I'm his cousin; I'm supposed to be happy for him. I should be supportive. I've missed so many opportunities to encourage him over the years, and I feel guilty enough about not playing a bigger positive role of his life.

Most of his misery was my fault after all, right? I was the one that got Bianca killed because I wasn't strong enough to save her; I was the one that never searched for him in the Labryinth because I was too preoccupied with stupid shit; I was the one that couldn't help him before the worst damage was done, before Minos fucked him up. I'm not even the one that saved him from the jar, whisked him back to the ship.

Instead of taking this as a chance to be happy for someone who needs (and deserves) it, I'm angry. I'm so, so angry that I don't have that anymore.

She should be here right now, eating lunch with me on this sunny morning. We should be prepping for a day of sword fighting and rock climbing and canoeing.

There won't be any more clear-skied days spent lounging in the strawberry fields, collapsed in a fit of giggles. She's not going to swoop in behind me and kiss me on the cheek and call me Seaweed Brain.

I'm upset. I'm upset that Nico, of all people, has someone. I could cope with Jason and Piper…Frank and Hazel…but not Nico.

I thought for a split second that maybe we would be able to connect, to share in our loneliness, in how truly fucked up life was.

But he won't be doing that anymore. He's working to get better, and Will is going to help him get there.

I saw the smile on his face when he caught sight of Nico. I saw the way his fingers gently rubbed the tender cheekbone. And I can see the way Will looks at him now, like he's the most precious thing in the whole world. It's how I used to look at Annie.

With Will by his side, he's going to be happy soon. Once all the drama dies down and the nightmares fade, he's going to be okay.

I don't think I'll be okay. I don't think I can be.

I don't have anyone anymore.

I don't have a Will to help me through this, and I don't know if I ever will.

I can feel my throat closing up. I squeeze my eyes shut.

It's like my mind is screaming.

You're alone.

You're alone.

You're alone.

You're so fucking alone.

I try to keep my breath from quickening to a rapid pace. I have to remind myself that I'm still in public, in the middle of breakfast. I can't fall apart, not here and especially not now.

There are too many people, too many prying eyes, too many…

A sudden bang resounds through the open air of the pavilion. Everything goes silent.

It takes a few moments for me to realize that I've slammed my closed fist on the table.

Shocked, my eyes dart around, bouncing from table to table. A handful of people glance sidelong in my direction. Some straighten their backs a little, covertly peering at the source of the sudden noise.

I train my eyes straight ahead, and there he is. Nico's eyes, huge and black and rimmed in dark circles stare right at me.

They're staring. They're all staring.

Slowly, in a futile attempt to avoid suspicion, I rise and speed-walk to the bronze brazier in the middle of the buffet. I toss my food in untouched without saying a prayer.

All I can think of is running, getting away from all the eyes.

I have to go now, before someone stops me. Before I fall apart under their gaze.

I brush past Piper and Jason, my shoulder colliding briefly with his bulky one. I stumble for a second, glancing up at his surprised face before continuing on my way.

I ignore Piper's calls for me to come back. I ignore the strange looks from the stragglers on their way to a late breakfast.

I break into a jog, then a run. I need to get away…need to get away.

My cabin swims into vision. I scramble for the doorknob, fingers knocking around as I shake.

Steady, steady, steady. Stop shaking. Get the fucking door open.

I manage to thrown it open, finally slamming it shut as soon as I slip through. I'm greeted to the same cluttered, darkened cabin.

I sink down right there, back flush against the door. My knees come up to my chest, thighs pressed tightly against my stomach.

The dam breaks completely. What little vision I have left is flooded with tears. I can barely swallow past the lump in my throat. Every gasp for air is short and shallow.

This isn't the first time I've been this…bad. It's happened before. I let myself get like this, and I can't breathe or think or do anything. It used to happen a lot more when I was little, probably as a result of all the shit Gabe put me through.

It's happened since then, plenty of times. Sometimes the stress and grief and fear get to be too much. I kept it hidden from everyone because I had to be strong. But Annie found out eventually, just like she always did. She barged in on me a few days after the Battle of the Labyrinth after my mind decided to conjure up dozens of horrible premonitions for the upcoming year.

But instead of running away, disgusted at the state of me, she stayed. From that moment on, she was always there to calm me down when I needed it. We would count to ten, slowly, forwards and backwards. She would rub circles in my back and run her fingers through my hair and brush the tears from my face with the pad of her thumb.

A soft knock on the drags me out of my stupor for a brief moment. Some desperate, deluded, depraved part of me thinks that it's her.

Reality slaps me in harshly across the face.

It's not her out there.

She's never going to be knocking on my door again.

I'm alone.

So, so fucking alone…


	6. Jar of Hearts

**Whew...so this chapter took forever. I had such a hard time pinning down what I wanted to happen, and even ended up going back and making minor changes to chapter 5 because I wasn't too happy with it.**

 **But here's the final product, only months in the making. Hope it doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

 **NICO**

 **Jar of Hearts- Christina Perr** i

It's hard to describe what's going on. No matter how many times this happens, I still can't properly make sense of it. I know that I should talk to someone…someone that knows about these things. But I can't…I can't even explain what's going on.

I'm not exactly paying attention to my surroundings. I know that I'm in the dining pavilion; I'd shuffled in here just as the horn was being blown. But it doesn't feel right, not at all.

There's a chill in the air, one I'm convinced only I can feel. One that is completely out of place on a hot summer morning.

It's as if a cold fog has settled over the dining pavilion, obscuring it's usual technicolor brightness. I should be awash in a sea of tan skin and orange shirts and blue sky, but instead the campers that float past my hooded eyes are obscured by a veil. It reduces them to indistinct shapes; it blurs their borders. They're just one, roiling mass of muted colors.

The volume of this horde's conversations fluctuates unnaturally. For a moment everything is deadly silent. Seconds later, one indistinct voice rises above the growing rumble of whispers until suddenly I'm surrounded by a cacophony of mindless chatter.

What's wrong with me?

I close my eyes and lower my head, begging under my breath for it to stop, for everything to go back to normal.

I'm scared. I'm scared every time I get like this because I fear that it'll never end, that I'll be stuck in this endless fog forever.

I know that it's not plain exhaustion. I've felt that before, for the past several years really. At this point, I could spend a week in a coma and still make a dent in my years accumulated sleep debt.

No, a good night's sleep free of horrid dreams won't fix it.

I don't know if anything will.

I fear that this is madness, true madness like nothing I've felt before. They've called me mad before, many times. They've swapped stories about me by the fire: the crazy Ghost King, the sociopath that dwelt in the Underworld and communed with dead, the necromancer, the master of shadows.

But now they're right.

This must be the beginning of my madness.

I can't talk to anyone about it. For if it is what I fear, I'll be condemned even further. They'll push me from camp, to the depths of the Underworld.

The stone under my feet, the bench I'm sitting on, the fork dangling from my hand…they don't feel solid. It's like I'm going to float away.

It's like…nothing's real anymore.

Well, except for…

As if on cue, my leg throbs. A flash of heat crawls across my skin.

Slowly, I press a palm to my thigh. Another flash of pain. Surely blood soaks further into the sloppily applied bandages, maybe even spotting my jeans.

I need this. It's the only things keeping me grounded right now. Each spike of pain keeps me from floating away entirely. It makes the world clearer and clearer with each passing second, but to find sanity in pain? Still madness.

I continue like that for gods know how long, prodding my wounds. But my hands still when someone slips onto the bench beside me.

I feel the tingle of breath against my neck. Delicate lips press against my cheek. A soft "good morning" is murmured in my ear.

Will.

My heart flutters as my brain finally allows me to focus on something. I glance over briefly and see his face, clearer than anything I've seen today. His long blonde hair is mussed and still wet from his morning shower; his blue eyes sparkle almost as brightly as his freshly brushed teeth. He looks like he's ready to seize the day, just like always…

Seeing him should make me happy. It should give me comfort in this difficult moment. His kiss, however chaste, should ground me in reality, make it all better.

But I remain static, suddenly paralyzed with a new fear. One memory in particular floods back as the phantom smell of blood and dust invades my nostrils once again.

 _How can he be expected to love a murderer?_

Last night I was confronted with the truth. She was right. It's never going to work out between us. He's never going to love me when he finds out the extent of my problems, when he finds out about what I've done.

Now I'm afraid of Will.

I fear what he'll do or say when he finds out I'm in another one of my "moods", as he calls them. It's a fear of the fight that's inevitably going to take place when I try to ditch my daily activities to sulk in my room.

But those are just my immediate fears. Of course I still fear his what he'll do when he finds out what I've done, both to Bryce and myself.

Deep down, I know that staying with him is pointless.

Deep down, I know that he'll never understand what I go through and that he'll never even try. He'll just continue to get ticked off at me on my bad days because he just doesn't understand why I have them. My life is perfect after all. I lived through the war and I have a sister and nobody I was close to died and I'm not currently being lynched over my sexuality.

I know that I should break up with him. I should run away, just like I did all those years ago. I can loot my room in my father's palace for everything that's of value. I can hawk it all at some mortal pawn shop for cash and do…something….

"-rything okay baby?"

Suddenly I'm snapped me out of my stupor by his voice. Apparently he'd been talking the entire time, and I never noticed.

"C-can you repeat that?" I ask in a hoarse voice.

"I was just telling you about our plans for today and you didn't really seem to be listening," he replies, quirking an eyebrow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wrack my still foggy brain, trying to remember what plans I'd made with Will. Had I agreed to it in a bout of exhaustion?

My stomach drops as I remember. We'd made plans over two weeks ago to head into the city. It'd taken a lot of convincing, but Chiron finally agreed. Today was supposed to be our day, just the two of us far removed from all the stress of the past few months.

"I-I…Will, I'm not…f-feeling well. I-I don't think I can…"

"Oh come on!" he groans, cutting me off. "We've had these plans for weeks! You're really not going because you're, what? A little tired?"

I open and close my mouth a couple times, frantically searching for words to explain it all. I feel like shutting down because Gods I can't do this. I can't sit here and explain the real reason I can't go with him.

I find my shoulders curling in. My head dips down, a curtain of hair obscuring my face.

Oh gods, I can't do this. The fight's already started; he's already pissed off that I'm not going with him.

"Why are you always doing this to me?" he begins, thankfully with the decency to keep his voice relatively quiet. "I'm trying to make this whole thing work but you bail on me every single time we make plans! Do you even want to be together anymore?"

"I-I…I'm s-sorry but…" I stutter, before I'm cut off again. But this time, it's not by Will.

A loud bang resounds through the noisy dining pavilion, quieting everyone. Some snap into panic mode, hands flying to their hips where their weapons likely reside. It only takes me a few seconds to identify the source of the sound.

At the table across from me sits Percy, who looks like he's about to be sick. His face is pale and gaunt; his eyes are scrunched together; his hands are curled tightly into fists. His chest rises and falls quickly. Even from here, I can see him shaking.

Concern spikes through me, almost enough to make me forget about the situation at hand. I hazily remember the last time I saw him, maybe a week and a half ago. He looked bad, but not this bad…

Part of me chides myself. Why should I be worrying about him when I'm imploding myself? But Percy…he was my first crush, so that's bound to mean something. I never told him, never talked to him about it, but still. I want him to be alright.

I guess I should've know that he'd be damaged like this. He's been hiding out ever since it happened. But I'd hoped, probably like everyone else, that his reclusivness would dissipate as time passed. I hoped that he would spend a few months as a shut in, trying to come to terms with what happened, but he would eventually start dealing with reality.

It didn't look like that was happening.

I watch as he rises from the table and frantically tossing his food in the brazier. He speed walks away, pushing past groups of people. By the time he reaches the archway, he's practically running.

"What that was about?" Will wonders out loud, momentarily abandoning our argument in favor of disecting the formerly great hero's behavior.

Before he can suck me back into the fight, I choke out that I have to go. I run, right after Percy, leaving behind Will. I know he'll probably follow me in an attempt to continue talking about something I clearly don't want to talk about.

I slow to a stop when I see Percy slip into his cabin.

I'm faced with a choice.

I can go back to my room and lock the door. Will won't be able to get in, so I'll be alone. He'll probably stand outside my door shouting for a few minutes, but eventually he'll go off and resume his plans.

Or I could go after Percy. I could knock on his door and try to help, because in some way I know where he is right now. I know what's probably going on behind that locked door.

Is it worth helping him? Is it worth even trying?

My mind flashes back all the major moments in our horrid excuse of a relationship.

Him telling me Bianca was dead. Finding each other in the Labyrinth. His birthday. Watching as he bathed in the Styx. When he tells me he doesn't trust me anymore. When he helped save me from the jar…

There are so many moments that tell me that helping him isn't a good idea. He's hurt me, ignored me, forgotten me. He made me feel worthless when he didn't He ripped my heart in two when he said he didn't trust me.

But I still find myself drawn to his cabin. My feet shuffle that way. Step by step, I get closer.

I know that's it's dumb to care about him when I have problems on my own. I know that I probably won't be able help to much, seeing as I don't have a handle on my own problems. And most importantly, I know he'll never love me. He can't (really nobody can), but especially not him.

Still, I knock on his door. Once, then twice. Even from the other side, I can hear the heavy breathing and deep sobs I've become accustomed to hearing from myself.

"Percy?"

* * *

 **If you have thoughts or constructive criticism at all, please let me know! I'd love to get a little feedback, especially on Will. I don't want to make him seem like too much of a dick, but I still want Solangelo to not really be working out.**

 **Well, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy all the angst I have in store :P**


	7. Empty Picture Frames

**I realize how much I suck for posting this so damn late. But I had a shit ton of writer's block then ended up being super busy starting school again and getting used being back in the swing of things. So, FINALLY, I present another chapter.**

 **But, on a more important note:**

 **I feel like I need to clarify what's going on with Will in this story. A few commenters raised the concern that he was being too mean. Well, he's not necessarily a mean-spirited person; he simply doesn't understand what Nico's going through. In his mind, Nico should be better simply because he has a boyfriend. Will believes that he is in love with Nico, and does everything he's been taught (like organizing cute trips into the city) to prove it.**

 **But clearly, Nico isn't getting better. Nothing Will is doing is working like it should. He'd been so looking forward to the trip and a chance to be alone together, to maybe start dealing with whatever reasons Nico might have for avoiding him. Now he's frustrated and angry that Nico's backed out again. He feels like he's trying to do all the right things, and Nico just keeps pulling away (which he actually kind of is).**

 **So I hope that clarified some of the finer points of Will's role. I got a lot of comments** **about how Will was being to mean. And yeah, maybe he was a little harsh. But that also wasn't the first time Nico's went back on plans. He's reaching the end of his rope, and he's not sure how to properly deal with any of this.**

 **Hence the lashing out. I h** **ope that clarifies the why of the whole thing. I'm not trying to demonize Will at all, but I'm simply trying to be a bit more realistic.**

* * *

 **PERCY**

 **Empty Picture Frames- Real Friends**

I ignore the first knock on the door. I barely heard it over the thunder of my own heart beat. A part of me had to wonder if it had really even happened.

It must have been my mind playing tricks on me, conjuring up what I wanted to hear most. It had been hard to open up at first, but I'd finally begun to find comfort in her…

And now…now…

There's another knock, just as soft as the first, just as easy to miss. It pulls my thoughts together for a second. One knock might've been my mind playing tricks on me. But two?

"Percy?" calls a small, hesitant voice. Now, this I'm not imaging in. It's familiar, but one I can't quite place. It's not…not her. It's not Piper or Jason either, the only people left that might fight to get inside. It could be someone else, some innocent camper that has no business worrying about me.

Maybe if I could manage to breath for a second, I could figure out some way to get the to go away. If I could steady my voice, I could convince whoever's out there that I'm fine. Then I'd be left to deal with this alone, like it should be…

Before I could calm myself down enough to choke out an excuse, the voice calls out again.

"Please open the door."

My heart clenches and my thoughts race all over again. No, no, no. I can't open it. I curl further inward on myself, wrapping my arms tighter around my legs. I want to scream for them to go away, but that'd never work.

She's the only one that was ever supposed to see me like this; she's the ONLY one that I was ever going to open up to. Not my mom, not my father, not Paul. Not Grover or Jason or Piper or…or anybody.

Whoever's out there…they can't see this. If they do, they'll try to get me help. They'll send for Chiron or my mom or…or gods' forbid my father.

My breathing speeds up, almost impossibly, at the thought of any of them knowing. All their kind faces, distorted in pity, flash in front of eyes squeezed shut out of fear.

They'll find out about the alcohol; it won't take them long to discover that something's really, really wrong with me. One close look at this room and they'll know. There's a horde of empty bottles shoved under my bed, only disguised by my rumpled blankets.

They'll all assure me that it's going to be okay, that we can fix this. I just need to talk to someone or take some pills or go somewhere upstate with padded rooms and white-coated doctors.

Chiron will give me some speech about loss, his impossibly old brown eyes sad, his brows furrowed in grave concern. My dad would try the same. They're immortal; they've known true loss in an endless cycle. Children and heroes and lovers…

My mom…she'll cry for her lost son and her lost (almost) daughter. She…she had loved her too, I have to remember that. Annie was there for her when I couldn't be, when I was stuck gods know where doing gods know what. They bonded over their shared loss and fear, and probably thought they were going to be family one day when everything settled down.

This is probably hard on her too, and I couldn't bear to even be there for her. I hadn't seen her in weeks and it didn't even bother me. It was easier to be alone, she didn't have to see me this way. If she couldn't see me, maybe she could pretend that I was slowly getting better, that I would come home in September as her same old son.

But they'll all be so disappointed…they'll pretend that they're not, but in the end that's all I'll ever be.

A disappointment…a fuck up…

"If you don't open the door, I'll come in anyway."

Before I can even fully process what that statement meant, an abrupt thud resounds from the farthest, darkest corner of the room. I pick my head up just long enough to see a shape emerge from the shadows. It wavers for a moment, grabbing the edge of my dresser to steady itself. After a few seconds, it staggers towards me.

It finally dawns on me. There's only one person here that could've gotten in without me opening the door, only one person that could appear from the shadows like that.

No…no. Not him. He's the absolute last person I want to see…

The sound of footsteps comes closer and closer.

"Percy?"

It's the same small, timid voice I heard from the other side of the door. It's a voice that I should've recognized immediately, but didn't because despite our long history, I haven't talked to him nearly as much as I should've.

His hand brushes up against my knee, sending an electric shock through my body. My head shoots up and a pale, heart-shaped face swims into focus, its dark eyes wide with halting worry.

I drop my head immediately, ragged breath quickening with each passing second.

He's the one that caused this. If I hadn't seen him and Will I wouldn't be like this right now. It wouldn't feel like a lead weight was bearing down on my chest. I wouldn't be choking on air. I wouldn't want to scream until I couldn't anymore.

"Please look at me. I-I just want to help. Please."

But it's also not his fault. He doesn't know what's going through my head; he doesn't know that some stupid kiss set me off like this. How could he?

And here he is, just trying to help to awful person that's begrudging his happiness.

"Just breath with me, okay? Just breath," he urges, his initial patience beginning to slip away.

He begins to count to five and back. His voice catches every so often, like he's trying to swallow past a lump in his throat.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five, four, three, two, one.

After some time, the hand that'd been placed on my knee recedes and I hear him shuffle away from me, probably because nothing he tries seems to be working.

He stops counting and starts pleading again: for me to calm down, for me to breath, for me to just _listen_ to him. Please, please, please just breath. He sounds desperate by now;his voice is thin and warbling.

It finally dawns on me that I'm scaring him. He probably thinks I'm a freak at this point, unable to control my most basic functions. He's not wrong. I know I'm crazy…I know it…

But I have to breath, if only to get rid of him. Just breathe, in and out to his steady count. His hands finds its way to my knee again, fingers awkwardly skimming the rough fabric in circular motions.

He lets out quiet affirmations as my breath begins to trickle out in longer, more practiced streams.

"See, it's alright."

"You're doing great."

After what seems like hours, the tension in my chest muscles lightens to the point where my heart doesn't feel like its being gripped by a vice. I'm still shaking like a leaf, my limbs heavy and trembling.

I find the courage to raise my head, and there he is, hovering in front of me. The familiar large eyes and small, sloped nose I'd known for years.

"Come on," he whispers, his own shaky hands gently prying my arms away from my torso. "Let's get you to bed."

Somehow, despite our size difference, he manages to help me stumble to my feet. He's still a solid head shorter than me, and even with my recent weight loss, I'm heavier. I almost fall backwards when a bout of dizziness overcomes me, but he holds on tight and heaves me towards the bed.

He holds my arm tightly as I shuffle forward, legs too heavy to lift fully. Once my shin hits the edge of the bed, I collapse, flopping on the bed. I lay down face up, limbs sprawled in multiple directions. My eyes flutter open and shut as I continue to breath to my own count, one I'd picked up where he left off.

He starts to work with a small frown on his face, taking off my shoes and socks, ridding me of my rumpled, dirty zip up. I passively move whenever he nudges me, too exhausted to bother protesting, He reluctantly leaves me in my stiff jeans, obviously not wanting to cross some sort of line.

I shift my head to the side a little, to get a better look at him. He looks so concerned, his thin brows drawn together. Hesitantly, his hand recedes from my shoulder, only to come up and brush some strays hairs from my face. His movements are so tender, so familiar…

It's exactly what she used to do. I lean a little closer, letting him card his fingers through my hair. I let out a long breath, forcing the those thoughts of her out of my mind. I can't think about that, not now, not after what just happened.

After a few minutes I'm fading in and out of consciousness, sleep finally starting to take hold of my foggy head. Maybe, since I'm this exhausted, I'll be blessed with a dreamless sleep. Still, I feel a cold hand resting against my shoulder, refusing to move. He's still here, waiting for me to fall asleep.

Finally, my eyes close and right before sleep takes me, I feel it. I don't believe it at first. More of my mind playing tricks on me, it was that brief.

But it was real.

Cold and dry against my forehead, but unmistakable.

A kiss.

* * *

 **Thoughts? Criticism? Ideas?**

 **Also, as a final note, I urge everyone to give the songs I provide with every chapter a listen. They're from some of my favorite bands/artists, and I'd love for someone people to get to discover some new music. If you listen, let me know what you think!**

 **Hope to be back soon!**


	8. The Beast in Me

**Sorry for being a little late. I've been pretty busy with school and adjusting to a new schdule, all that kind of stuff. But I'm back at it again with some more depressing shit!**

* * *

 **NICO**

 **The Beast in Me- Johnny Cash**

After the events of this morning, I tried to go back to my cabin. I locked the door behind me and slipped inside, my back leaning against the heavy black wood.

I thought I was going to fall back asleep, at least after I'd calmed down some. I was still exhausted and liable to pass out, even after all the anxieties my fight with Will brought up. But after everything that'd just happened…that wasn't an option. My head was racing; all I wanted to do was pace. But my floor was still strewn with paper and dirty clothes, the walls covered with a collage of tacked up drawings. The mess became entirely too much to handle. I just had to get out; I was starting to get claustrophobic. So I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and a lighter off my dresser and made a run for it.

I ended up wandering in the woods for a while, trying my best to keep to the shadows cast by the trees. A few of the clearings were still busy with activity. Younger campers roamed the outskirts of the forest with guides, perhaps hoping for a fight with a small monster to test their newfound skills. But for the most part, I was able to avoid people altogether.

I'm just thankful that my usual spot is tucked so deep in the woods that nobody will find me. I drop down on the ground, a thick layer of pine needles cushioning my fall. I push my back up against the weathered rock and pull out my lighter, flipping the cool metal object in my hands.

After lighting what would be the first of many cigarettes, I let the small flame for a few seconds longer. I'm so tempted…but ultimately I release the striker. Maybe smoking will clear my head enough that I won't have to resort to…that…

I suck in a puff of smoke and hold it before exhaling deeply. I lean my head back against the rock, watching the thin wisps float amongst the dizzyingly tall pines. I let out a shaky breath before taking another drag.

Today has been so fucked.

My fight with Will was hard enough.

Some part of me has to believe that at some point, he was going to break up with me. He'll realize that I'm not worth it, that nothing he can do is going to change the fact that I'm fundamentally fucked up.

A wave of nausea hits me when I remember the way things were in the beginning. I used to be able to handle it back in the beginning, when everything was still fresh. I used to think that maybe I could change, and that maybe Will would be the one to help me. If I went to the bonfires with him, maybe I'd be happier. If I listened to him tell me how beautiful I was, if I let him kiss me, maybe I wouldn't hate my body so much.

That's not how it works.

I want to be happy with him. I want to feel comfortable; I want to be able to confide in him all the fucked up things that run through my head. I want him to hold me when I can't breathe. I want him to see my scars and still want kiss me and tell me that everything's going to be okay. I want the old Will, the sweet doctor that swept me off my feet and gave me the _chance_ , a fleeting chance, to feel good about myself.

But I've destroyed that, haven't I? I've destroyed that charming, handsome, wonderful guy that got so nervous the first time he asked me out to the bonfire. And I've replaced him with an angry, combative person.

I'm poison, aren't I?

Maybe he'll finally understand that all of his efforts are pointless, that no amount of bonfires or playful nagging or cute couple trips is going to change me. Maybe today will be the last straw and he'll finally cut his losses and try to salvage what's left of himself. He'll find someone else because he really is a good guy, deep down. I just bring out the worst in him.

I need to do something before I ruin him more, before I drag him down with me. But I'm a coward. I'm a fucking coward and that can't face him. I can't bear the thought of another fight.

But I could always set him free in another way…

With that thought, I flick away the smoldering remains of my first cigarette and immediately grab for the haphazardly discarded carton. By this this point, my hands are so shaky it takes me a few seconds longer to light the next one; my fingers keep slipping against the striker, making the flame flicker in and out. I take a long, greedy drag once it's lit, but it catches in my throat and I can't help but cough.

I could end this…all of this. End the constant nightmares and the stupid fights and the fear of never being accepted…

It would be so easy to just disappear. In the end, Hazel would feel it, but by that point it would be too late…

I shake my head and bring the cigarette back to my lips once my throat has calmed down. It's been a while since I've thought like that in any serious way. It might've been fleeting, but it was still there.

Gripping the carton and lighter tightly in my hand, I toss down the remains of my cigarette and crush it with my boot. I rise on achy joints and begin walking again. I need to get out of here, away from camp and any chance of confrontation with Will. I don't trust myself enough for that…

I walk over to the shadows and make a quick jump to my cabin. I haphazardly sweep a bunch of stuff into a battered black backpack. A book, sketchpad, pens, my cigarettes, a small dagger in a black scabbard. The iPod Will gave me when we first started dating…

Almost as a second thought, I stuff a few bills of mortal money into my front pocket. Maybe I can find some sketchy corner store that won't card me for cigarettes. I'm running low, and I can't help but think I won't have any by the end of today.

Swinging the backpack onto my shoulders, I disappear into the shadows.

* * *

I guess it's ironic that I end up wandering the city all day. It's exactly what Will had wanted to do, but it was never going to happen with him. I couldn't be with him for that long. I couldn't deal with the expectations. I don't even remember what his plans for our trip were, but I knew they would've been too much.

So instead I go by my own plans, which are basically nonexistent. I just need to fill the day. I walk, and walk, and walk. I stop at a cafe for the largest, cheapest coffee I could find. Sometimes I loiter in front of a corner store to smoke. In the end, I spend most of the day roaming Central Park. I'm at my calmest there, under the canopy of trees. It's not nearly as quiet as the camp woods, but it has the benefit of nobody caring about me or what I was doing. It's like I'm invisible, even though the park is packed with people.

I find myself on the Brooklyn Bridge just as the sunset was coming to a close. Only a sliver of orange-tinged sunlight remains on the horizon. As I look across the East River, I can't help but think of Percy. I instinctively light a new cigarette, the last one in the pack. I sigh and scrub my face with my free hand.

I've been trying to keep him out of my mind all day because that was a tangle of emotions I wasn't ready to deal with. So far I'd been successful keeping most

But Percy…

My eyes flutter closed and my mind flashes back to earlier today. His labored breathing, the sound of his cries. My own feeling of helplessness, clawing its way up my throat. The way my voice trembled as I tried to count down from ten, my own panic mounting with each passing, unsuccessful minute. It was a horrible thing to watch to someone I-I used to love go through.

Who am I kidding? I didn't _used_ to love him. I still do. I wish I could have him, all of him.

But he'll never love me.

Nobody will.

I shudder at the memory of that kiss on his forehead, however brief it was. That was a huge mistake, an afterthought that should have been ignored. There's a chance he won't remember it at all.

I have to hope for that. Because I can't explain to him why I did it. I can't admit that I've had a crush on him for years…

I can't see him anymore. I don't want to see him hurting…I don't want to hurt him anymore…because I always do.

The water seems so inviting now. I pick my head up and scan the rest of the walkway. There are only a few people left at this hour, and nobody is close enough to stop me. Hope the railway, run across the road, get to the edge and…

If I jump, I won't have to confront Will or Percy or anyone…Right now there's no notes to write, nothing left to say…

Drowning in the East River…

Flicking the spent butt on the ground and crushing it with my boot, I started walking again. I'll finish walking across the bridge, then I'll dip into an alley and shadow travel back to my cabin.

But all the walking has completely drained me. My legs are sore (and it's not just my raw thighs); my feet are burning. The tips of my boots drag a little on the pavement with each step. But neither pains hold a candle to the gnawing feeling in my stomach. When was the last time I ate?

By the time I make it to a semi-private dark place, I realize my shadow travel isn't going to end up being as precise as I want it to be. Here's hoping that I can still avoid everyone. It's late, too late for most people to be roaming camp. Dinner's over, there's no bonfire tonight…

I lean against the rough brick wall and tighten the grip on my backpack. Taking a deep breath, I melt back into the shadows.

I end up landing in a heap at the very edge of the woods. Twigs snap beneath me, and I hiss as they scratch my skin. I roll over and stay like that for a minute, stray peddles digging into my bony knees.

Eventually I find the energy to stand up and stumble towards my cabin. None of the cabin's lights have dimmed yet; nobody is asleep. But the grounds themselves are mostly deserted, though still well-lit. For a second, I almost believe I'm in the clear, that I'm going to make it to my cabin without anyone noticing me.

I'm wrong.

My stomach drops when I realize that someone is sitting on the ground in front of my door. Tthe green fire torches cast enough light to reveal a glimmer of blonde hair.

Will.

I want nothing more than to bolt, but the scuffle of my feet alerts him to my presence. His head snaps up, and once he sees me, he immediately scrambles to his feet.

"Where have you been all day! I looked for you everywhere," he exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me into a hug. I immediately go stiff. I try to swallow past the rapidly growing lump in my throat to no avail.

"You smell like smoke," he observed as he pulled away a little, crinkling his nose in disgust. Having been given a chance to get free, I jerked away and tore my arms from his grip.

"Nico!"

"I-I just, please, I c-can't talk right now. I-I have to…" I shakily replied, my hand already touching the doorknob.

I wince when Will roughly grabs my forearm. "Seriously, I really want to talk. I-I'm sorry for today, I was just frustrated and," he rambles, tightening his grip so that I can't leave.

I feel like I'm going to be sick, the nonexistent contents of my stomach churning. I-I can't do this.

"Let go," I whisper in a quavering, barely-there voice.

"No, we have to talk," he replies incredulously, like I was delusional to think that I was going to get away with not talking about what happened.

No, we don't have to talk…I have to get away…I have to…

I don't know. But I can't stay here. I-I can't…

"Let go," I say again, more forcefully this time. I grip the doorknob tighter, if that's even possible. My knuckles turn white with effort.

"I'm not letting go until you agree to talk to me!" he shouts, tugging on my arm.

The fight is getting louder and louder. Curtains are drawn open, campers peek out their doors. All those eyes on me…all those people…watching.

The shadows start to swirl around my feet, dancing wildly in the light of the fire. They grow strong with each passing second, feeding off my emotions.

Will's grip tightens and he rips me from the door, turning me to face him. He grips both my arms in his, holding them tightly in front of me. His handsome face, twisted in a mixture of concern and anger, looks down at me…

I feel that familiar tug in the pit of my stomach. I hear my own pulse drumming in my ears.

Just like last time…in the woods…with Reyna and Hedge and…and Bryce…

"I said let go!" I scream, rage and fear pouring out in twin.

I don't really remember what happens after that. It all happened so fast.

One minute he's standing tall and gripping both my arms, not about to let go. Stubbornly trying to talk…trying so hard…

And the next he's lying flat on his back, sprawled in the dirt halfway across the courtyard, his whole body smoking lightly. He isn't moving.

He isn't moving.

Everything goes silent; the only sound comes from the crackling brazier in the distance. The campers that had gathered outside their doors are frozen in place, all wearing the same look of shock. Someone shouts to get a medic. Someone else just shouts.

I collapse back up against the door, choked sobs rising up. My mouth hangs open in shock as I watch a few campers carefully inch towards Will.

Will…oh Gods…

Calling upon the pooling shadows, I fall backwards into the portal. I don't know where I'm going…I don't know where I _can_ go.

But I can't be here…I can't be here…

Oh Gods…Will…

* * *

 **Well, that was...unexpected? I didn't exactly plan for that to happen, but in the moment it felt right.**

 **Hope you enjoyed! And let me know what you think so far!**


	9. Asleep

**I want people to give a shit about my stories and review and all that. But that's kind of hard when I'm a fickle piece of shit that takes months to update. But, y'know, life got in the way, blah, blah, blah. Kids, don't think art school is a walk in the park.**

 **I know I would have a hard time enjoying a story that updated this infrequently, and I really want to be better about it. But sometimes it's just hard to get everything right. So bear with me, I guess...**

 **Also, excuse my use of probably the most basic af song by the Smiths. But it works to well to ignore it. So enjoy the feels if you decide to give it a listen.**

* * *

 **PERCY**

 **Asleep- the Smiths**

I find myself slipping back into my usual pattern. This time I'm not drinking out of necessity or comfort. I really feel like I actually deserve it after the day I've had. By some miracle I'd managed to go a few days without being set off, but that streak ended abruptly this morning. I guess that made what happened feel even worse; I'd been given a reprieve from all the bullshit, however brief it ended up being.

I swirl the clear liquid in my mostly-full, chipped crystal whiskey tumbler. They were a gift from Oliver, for his "favorite customer". Meanwhile, his earlier gift was going unused, the contents of the plastic bag sitting (or maybe waiting?) in my top drawer. I'd been saving it for a really bad night…but maybe that night was tonight.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall, taking a short sip of my drink and weighing the decision. I don't know if this drink is enough, not after such a bad day. I haven't left my cabin since breakfast this morning. I slept through lunch…after he helped me to bed…

My hand brushes against my forehead almost subconsciously...

I shake my head and take another, longer drink. No, don't think about him, especially not that part. Think about something else…

My mind is starting to drift. I think that someone should probably be coming around soon. Part of my finds it strange that they've let me spend the day alone. Whenever they actually see me get upset, they make a point to make sure I'm "alright".

I never am. But usually I can pretend, and it's usually enough to fool them.

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. It seems a little late for them to be checking on me. But maybe they'd been busy today; maybe they were actually accomplishing things. I almost want to ignore the knock because I honestly don't know if I can deal with their endless amount of questions/concerns. I don't know if I can lie and plaster a tired smile on my face.

But this time, the knocking isn't hesitant, or even casual. It seems urgent. The sharp noise slices through my steadily growing fog inside my head and I realize it's not going away anytime soon. Whoever's out there must know I'm still in here; it's not like I'd be anywhere else. They must really need to talk to me.

Groaning, I haul myself up. At least I have the forethought to position my glass behind my alarm clock and hide the bottle in the rumpled folds of my comforter, just in case someone barges in. I shuffle towards the doors, hands flying to my hair in an effort to smooth it.

I open the door a crack, only to see Jason frantically looking over his shoulder and shouting to someone in the distance. I peek around him, only to see a lot of people gathered in small groups, huddled together. There are usually never this many people out at this hour…

"Jason?" I rasp, clearing my throat. I immediately start to panic when I notice the golden, leaf-shaped blade strapped to his waist. What could be this urgent?

Whipping his head back in my direction, he curses under his breath. "Come with me," orders tensely.

"What's going on?" I repeat skeptically, eyebrows furrowing. My hand flys to my own pocket, as if to check that Riptide is still there, even though it always is. My fingers curl around the pen nervously, fiddling with the cap.

He sighs, raking his fingers through his closely cropped blonde hair.

"Just…c'mon, I'll explain, I swear."

I follow him, shutting the door behind me. Everyone seems unnaturally tense, and yet nobody is running around in complete panic. So the world isn't ending, I guess. But I still have no idea what's happened, and I'm getting that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It can't be good, whatever it is.

Eventually, he leads me towards the edge of the woods, where there's a small group of people milling around. Piper's already there, Katroptris gripped tightly in one hand and a flashlight in the other. There's Leo, Clarisse, Connor, Katie…all armed in some way...

"Seriously, Jason, what's going on?" I plead one more time, my eyes bouncing over the familiar faces that all wear equal looks of surprise (perhaps at seeing me).

He turns around and tosses me a battery powered lantern, grim look on his face.  
"Something…something's happened between Nico and Will. Nobody's really sure what went down exactly, but a bunch of people saw them fighting over something outside his cabin. One minute they're just shouting, like really screaming at each other, and the next Will's lying in the dirt thirty feet away, knocked out cold…"

"Shit," I croak, throat tightening. He'd thrown him thirty feet? I knew he was powerful but…wow.

"Nico shadow-traveled away, but he couldn't have gotten far after expending that much energy. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight if I don't at least try to look for him," he finished grimly, gripping his flashlight tightly.

I nod and swallow hard, the urgency of the situation sobering me quickly. We all start out in different directions, quietly combing through the woods with our weapons drawn in preparation for…something.

Yeah, there are monsters in the woods this hour of the night, but everyone seems too nervous for that to be the issue. We've all faced much, much worse over the past few months (or years, in some cases). Any monster we might encounter in these woods would be pretty easy to deal with. They're supposed to be practice, after all.

My heart clenches when it finally occurs to me. They're afraid of finding Nico, aren't they?

There's no telling what state he'll be in if we find him out here. He…he might be violent. Nobody really saw what happened between him and Will or heard what they'd been fighting about. He could've snapped, gone off the deep end for all we know…

He has the potential to be really dangerous. I feel like I forget it a lot of the time, that he's a child of the Big Three just like Jason, Thalia and I. He controls an entire realm unto itself, and could probably do a lot of damage if he wanted too…

He would never use it to hurt us, right? He would never want to, would never try to. But he hurt Will...and he probably loved him...

No, all of this must be a misunderstanding. I saw him with Will this morning, and everything seemed fine between them. Maybe a tiny bit tense, but definitely alright…

I don't know how far I've walked, but it's been a long time since I've seen anyone else. It's so easy to get lost in thought out here, especially since the buzz of the forest provides a perfect white noise. That's what makes the next sound so jarring.

The grass beneath my foot crunches loudly, like fragile glass. I train my lantern downward, and all I see for the next several feet is grass blanched of all its color. Memories of the Battle of the Labyrinth and all the dead patches of grass Nico had created with his powers flood my mind. I push ahead through a thicket of brittle shrubs, knowing that he must be close.

The air grows cold and stagnant as I move forward, the humid buzz of the forest in its natural state gone completely. No more cicadas, no more distant howls. I don't even have to strain my ears to pick up on the short, gasping breaths.

I swing my lantern around frantically, searching high and low for him because he must be around here somewhere. He just has to be. The second my light hits the space shrouded by two trees, the shadows start dancing wildly. My eyes strain in the weak light, but there he is.

He's curled up pitifully on the forest floor, body contorted to fold in on itself. The skinny arms that cover his face are dotted in shallow scratches and bruises. The darkness seems to cling to him, dulling the once bright LED light of the lantern Jason had given me. But what little light the lantern manages to give off is more than enough to see the swirling, roiling tendrils of shadow that whip around him.

When the grass beneath my feet crunches again, his whole body tenses and shivers. I stop for a moment, a good three away from him, letting the forest go silent. I don't dare move any closer. I shudder just thinking about the darkness. I was so afraid of it when I was a kid, and for a while I thought I'd gotten over it. But after...after Tartarus…I couldn't...I can't…

"Nico?" I speak up, voice trembling. My grip tightens on Riptide, knuckles turning white with anxiety. But a sword cannot cut through this darkness. It's a monster I can't fight...

He moans long and low at the sound of my voice. He curls further in on himself as I approach; his breathing becoming more and more uneven as the seconds drag on. The sobs rise in his throat, choking each breath he manages to take. Sometimes it sounds like he's dry-heaving, gagging.

I'm paralyzed, too afraid to intervene for fear of ending up like Will…I never saw the aftermath of their fight, but I can't imagine it was pretty.

But I care about him, and some part of me thinks he cares about me too. I need to do something; I need to help him out of this. I have to push through my own fear because I know he did the same thing today.

So I sit down in front of him, ringed all around me by the shattered remains of the once lush forest. Brittle twigs and leaves crunch under my weight as I settle into a cross-legged position. I set Riptide on the ground next to me so that the warm glow it emits mingles with the weak fluorescent light of the lantern.

Several minutes pass, but every time I try to speak the words die in my throat. I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say.

Instead, I reach a shaking hand out. My fingers graze against his stone cold knee momentarily, ready to jump back if he reacts badly. The only reaction I get is a small flinch, so I keep my hand in place. I'm still warm, even with the drop in temperature he's caused. Maybe it'll be reassuring.

"Just, um, breath. Okay Nico? Just like you told me earlier, in and out. Just breath."

A knot of dread develops in the pit of my stomach as I realize that those simple, almost half-hearted words don't seem to be changing anything. I wish someone would show up and save me from this situation. I've never been good at comforting people; I get flustered and never know what to say or how to help. I couldn't even manage to help myself most of the time…how was I expected to help someone else…But the entire forest is silent save for his labored breaths. I can't even hear the others anymore; they're not coming. I'm alone...alone in the dark and I have no idea what to do.

Why did I have to be the one to find him? My mind drifts to Jason, and the concern he'd shown earlier. He would be so much better at this than me; I'm sure of it. He's closer to Nico than I am, even if he's only known him for a few months compared to my few years. Even Piper would be better…

I swallow hard and remember the counting trick Nico had used on me earlier. I try to keep the same pace he'd shown me earlier, but I can tell it's still not working.

"Everyone's out looking for you," I add, gently running my thumb against the worn fabric of his jeans. This elicits another long, wordless groan, and I realize that might have sounded bad, like everyone was trying to hunt him down for what he did.

"N-no, it's not like that," I backtrack quickly, cursing my stupidity. "We're just worried that you're hurt. We just want you safe. I-I'm sure whatever happened was all just a mistake; they'll understand if you just calm down and explain."

Realistically if any of that is true. I don't know if it was a mistake or if anyone will understand why he'd done it. I don't know if there'll be any repercussions if he seriously injured Will. I felt nauseous at the thought of it, of hurting someone you loved. But the way Jason briefed us on the whole situation made me think that he'd just gotten knocked out. He was probably going to be fine…but I was so desperate to bring Nico out of this that I was willing to lie.

"I'll take you back to my cabin; you don't even have to see anyone else, I promise. Just please, please breath for me," I plead one last time, taking everyone else out of the equation and praying that it'll work. This time though, instead of staying in front of him I slowly shift myself to his side, shuffling into a different position. Still wary of the possibility he'll lash out, I slowly wrap one arm around his curled up form, pulling him close to my chest. I never like such overbearing contact when I'm like this but maybe...maybe this is what he needs. Warmth and guidance and comfort...

"We're going to count again, okay? Just breathe with me. One, two, three, four, five," I begin again, timing each count to my own deep breaths. His head is pressed tightly against my chest, so he can probably feel the movement too. I send a silent prayer to nobody in particular that this'll work…

Slowly but surely I feel everything in him loosen up. The tension melts from his form, and he sags against my side, arms lowering from his face enough to see some of the pale skin underneath. I can tell he's still crying, but now it's soft, almost silent.

"Do you want to go back to my cabin?" I ask tentatively. I feel him nod in response.

"Are you okay to walk?"

After the second nod, I unwrap my arms and move away. He stumbles to his feet, using a tree to support his weight. Bits of dry, colorless bark slough off its surface, but he doesn't have the energy to survey the damage he's caused. The previously discarded bag he's since picked up dangles precariously from his wavering grip.

After the first few times he stumbles and nearly falls over, I decide to just carry him the rest of the way. The entire act is awkward and clumsy on my part, but that's mostly because of the lack of light. He's disturbingly skinny, and even though I'm far from my own prime, picking him up is nothing.

Somehow we reach my cabin without seeing anyone. I don't know how long I've been in the forest, how long I sat with him. They might have given up by now, or maybe they're still out there, searching. Either way, I decide to make good on my promise and not tell anyone that I've found him, at least not yet. It gives me a better chance of controlling the situation.

I manage to get the door open, even with my arms full of him. I drop his bag by the door, and carry him over to my bed.

"Bag," he croaks as he slowly sits up. Frown on my face, I grab the bag and place it in front of him. He paws through it frantically before removing a pack of cigarettes and a metal lighter. With shaking hands, he removes the fresh plastic and tosses it to the ground. It takes him a couple tries to get the lighter going, but in no time at all he's greedily sucking in smoke.

In the light of my cabin, I'm finally able to really see him in his entirety. Most of what I see is pretty, well, standard for him. Even the wet, red eyes are nothing new. But his arms are dotted with small, shallow scratches, probably from tripping in the forest. There's even a glaring one that stands out against the pale skin of his cheek. But what I really narrow in on is the brilliant red beginnings of a bruise on his wrist. It's not in line with the collection of small ones that also dot his arms. Those are just like the scratches; they're probably from falling and bumping into things. But his wrist...

"I bruise easily," he deadpans when he catches me staring at his wrists. His response answers my unspoken question. So it was Will that caused that one...

"Nico…," I begin, voice heavy with concern.

"Stop," he snaps, cutting me off. "Just...I-I don't think I can talk about it. I can't...I-I can't, not about him." Just like that, the passive, empty look on his face breaks and tears well in his eyes. He rubs them away frantically, the ash from his momentarily forgotten cigarette scattering across my comforter.

Sensing more panic to come, I scramble to sit next to him. I don't try to hold him like I had before, not yet. But I place my own hand on top of the one that rests on his knee in an attempt to comfort him.

We sit in silence for what feels like forever, and eventually I remove my hand. At this point, the cigarette is probably doing most of the work. He shifts his body a bit, but discovers something when his leg hits the glass bottle that's buried in the folds of fabric. Switching the cigarette to his left hand, he digs around for a second before finding the bottle of vodka I'd hidden.

I rummage through my bedside table, pulling out the second glass Oliver had given me. I never thought I would use the second. Still sceptical, I pour him a small amount, much less than I would ever pour for myself. He gulps it down the second I hand it to him, leaving the glass dangling from his wrist in a wordless gesture for more.

I pour him more. A solid amount. What I would drink.

I finish off my own glass while he slowly sips his second. I realize he looks so much older than he really is, with the half-finished cigarette in one hand and the half-full glass in the other. His eyes are half-lidded and dull as he tips his head against the wall, exposing his long, pale neck in a way that's oddly...sensual?

I shake my head and take a long drink. He's, what, maybe fourteen or fifteen? I don't even know, and part of me doubts he knows for sure either. He's still a kid…

But he's not a kid, and I know it, deep down. A few years ago he was one, all happy and energetic. But being a half blood destroyed that. Fighting a war destroyed that. Being a PoW destroyed that. I destroyed that.

We settle into a silence that seems easy as opposed to tense. I can't tell what he's thinking, even after spending most of my time watching him in order to avoid my own thoughts. I don't even think he notices my staring. He seems out of it, lost in his own thoughts.

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually I break the silence. It must have been a while though; he's nearly finished with his drink. His eyes have gone glassy.

"So...you don't want to talk about what happened?"

"No," he replies shortly, the thin fingers of his free hand absently picking at the scratches. He doesn't even look me when he talks, instead staring at some uninteresting corner of my room.

"What do you want to do?" I ask tentatively. All I want to do is help, that's all...

"I just want to sleep…" he whispers, voice hitching just a little.

"Okay."

Without another word, I take the smoldering stub of his cigarette out of his hand and drop it in the almost empty glass, letting the last millimeter of liquid snuff it out. I set both of our glasses on my bedside table and lie back, inviting Nico to join me.

He crawls towards me, pinning himself against the wall and my side. He curls up, resting his head on my chest. I wrap my arm around him, and still he doesn't look at me. His eyes are already closed. Without the distractions of a glass and cigarette, and during those fleeting moments on the edge of sleep, he looks innocent...so small...

I flick off the lamp, leaving myself with only dim, filtered moonlight. In the semi-darkness, his edges are indefinite. The black fabric of his clothing and the shaggy mess of his hair recede into the background, but the translucent white of his face and boney arms seems to glow in the moonlight. My eyes trace across the angles of his face, which hold such an odd variety. Some are soft and gradual, like the curve of his lips or the natural slope of his nose. But the planes of his cheeks and point of his jaw have been harshened by weight loss and overwork. Some tiny part of me, some voice buried in the back of my head recognizes these traits for what they are.

Beautiful.

* * *

 **Hopefully this slightly long chapter makes up for being gone for so long. Hopefully I'll be able to get a new chapter up soon. I'm starting off on a good foot though, since I already have an idea of how I want to treat the next chapter.**  
 **But, until then, let me know what you think, please. Comments provide a HUGE sense of motivation, and remind me that someone out there is actually reading.**


	10. Shimmer

**Um... so I may or may not have forgotten to post Chapter 10 on this site...and I also might have forgotten to post Chapter 11 as well...**

 **Please don't crucify me? I kinda moved the bulk of my activity over to AO3 a while back because the doc manager for this site kept glitching out on me and taking forever to load and was always so frustrating. I haven't even read anything from this site in ages, tbh. But better late than never, I guess? Enjoy!**

 **(AND DAMN IT, when I finally posted this for the first time it glitched AGAIN, so thanks to the reviewer who promptly brought it to my attention.)**

NICO

Shimmer- Moose Blood

I'm starting to think that alcohol doesn't stop burning.

It burns going down my already parched, sore throat. Burns so much that I cough nine times out of ten.

It burns like a hot, lead weight in my empty stomach, which churns sickeningly as I lie on a park bench, shaded from hot summer sun but unable to escape the baking heat. I'd long since transferred the stolen contents of the glass bottle to a large plastic one. Nobody knows this way.

It burns even worse when it inevitably comes back up in a tide of sour bile.

I have to wonder if Percy ever has that problem. Part of me still can't imagine him in the same position I am, hunched over a trashcan, puking his guts out while pale stomach acid drips down his chin. I can't image him with aching joints from kneeling on the chipped linoleum floor of a gas station bathroom.

Even now, my hero complex gets in the way. Even now, I can't seem to see him as weak.

But I know that he's…weak. Maybe even weaker than me if this bottle is any indication. I can't image it's the only one. Not with the precense of those glasses, not with the ease he showed in drinking himself.

Nope, he's just as fucked up as me. And that's part of what's calling me back to New York.

I haven't set foot in the state since I left that morning, since I slithered out of his tight grip, taking great care to avoid waking him with the shift of the bedsprings. I've been trying to push all of him from my mind because I absolutely cannot go back there…I just can't, even if I wanted to see him.

I can't image going back there, facing Jason or…or god's forbid Will. Even if I went back to see him, it would be too much of a risk. He might betray me, hand me over to them. And I can't risk it.

No, it's safer to stay here in Chicago, where nobody would ever think to look for me. It's summer; I can handle sleeping rough outside and living off stolen food. I've had to deal with much worse before.

But in the end, I don't have nearly as much resolve as I think I do.

I break one late night, over two weeks after I left, just as the last drops of vodka are drained from the plastic bottle. I want to see him again, want to be with him again because waking up with his strong arms wrapped around me was honestly the best moment I'd had in years. In the fleeting seconds before I remembered why I was there, what I'd done…I'd been truly content. Almost happy...

Drunk me wanted that again; it became my mind's singular focus.

So the plan was simple. I can shadow travel to some liquor store, grab a bottle of something, and go see him. Maybe I'll grab two bottles as some sort of peace offering, since I stole the vodka from him in the first place. My addled mind thought it was an absolute brilliant idea.

And it still felt like a brilliant idea until the very moment I landed with a thump in his cabin, two bottles of hastily snatched vodka fisted in my hands. I swayed for a moment before righting myself to face him, only to find him half-asleep in bed.

"Nico? I-is that you?" he asks, rubbing his bleary eyes with the heel of his hands.

"H-heyyy," I greet, unable to stop myself from chuckling a little at the absurdity of the situation.

"Are you drunk?" he asks, tone incredulous as all remnants of sleep are replaced with shock. He must have assumed that I took the bottle with him when I left, but I doubt he ever imagined I would show up in his cabin drunk.

"Mhm," I hum in response. "Buttttt I brought you some too. 'S don't worry."

I offered him both bottles, and he grabbed them with only the smallest bit of halting hesitation. And he certainty showed no hesitation in pouring himself a glass.

"Y-you want any?" he asks, eyeing me up and down. He's probably trying to gauge how drunk I am. He must figure I'm pretty far gone if I ended up here.

I only nod in response, accepting the glass once he's dug it back out of the drawer and poured me a bit. We move to sit on the bed, everything practically mirroring what went down all those weeks ago. Except now I'm stretched out a bit, one leg splayed out and the other cast upwards, bent at the knee. Not nearly as tense…

"W-what are you doing here Nico? Not that I'm complaining, but like, nobody's seen you in weeks. I-I…I mean, we would've thought you were dead if Hazel hadn't told us otherwise," he starts, breaking the silence.

"Not like it's the first time I e'vr disappeared," I mumble over the lip of my glass, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Why did they even care?

"Yeah, but it's the first time in a long time that you've done it without contacting…well, anyone. Usually at least your dad knows where you are," he tries to reason.

"Can you blame me for leaving?" I ask, staring sideways at him, head pressed lazily into my arm.

"I-I…well, no. But we've been worried," he admits before trailing off, taking a sip of his own drink to fill the silence.

"No, no," I sniff, eyes watering involuntarily. "That's not true. T-they don't care. But you…you only care 'cause you understand."

"Understand what?"

"What it's like to hurt someone really bad. Y-you let Bia get hurt," I mumble. His face blanches immediately at the mention of Bianca, and he looks like he's about to be sick. Perhaps I'm drunker than I thought. I haven't talked about her in a long time, much less brought her up to Percy…

"But…but it's okay, really. 'Cause I forgive you even though you promised me you'd bring her back," I reply as stubborn tears threaten to slide down my face. It still hurts to think about her…

"'S okay," I mumble again, reaching to brush my fingers against his cheek only to have him flinch away, eyes squeezed shut.

"Y-you didn't kill Will though," he manages shakily.

"But I hurt him really bad. S'wasn't…wasn't moving when I ran away," I hiccup. I can practically feel my throat closing up at this point, getting all thick and tight…

"Have you tried to apologize?"

"Doesn't matter. Nobody'll ever forgive me, specially not him."

"H-he walked away with a concussion and some bruises. H-he's physically fine now, so I'm sure he'll forgive you if you really apologize. I mean, you just said you forgive me for what I did so…" he tries to reason.

"S'not the same though. You're easy forgive 'cause you do so much good stuff to make up for it. You're all nice and you save the world and junk. But I never do good things, so I don't deserve to be forgiven," I state simply, like it's something so obvious, like he should already be aware of it.

But still, he looks at me like I'm crazy.

"I'm not good though," I choke out, swallowing hard. "I almost joined the bad side; whole world would've been destroyed. Betrayed you to my dad too, got you locked up in that cell. You could've suffocated. A-and almost got you killed 'cause you were trying to save me from the j-jar. C-couldn't pull you and A-annabeth up, so…so you fell down there. Nobody else should've ever seen that, nobody."

"But that wasn't your fault. You tried to help," he attempts, voice catching at the mere mention of her. But I ignore his protests and continue, my one track mind hell bent on bringing up every reason I don't deserve to be loved.

"But I couldn't! Couldn't save you and now y-you're like…like this. A-and then, when I was i-in the forest with Reyna and Hedge…I-I just…"

My voice abandons me before I can finish the statement, before I can admit to what I'd done all those months ago. Fat tears make tracks down my face and my hands shake so badly that the vodka splashes past the brim of the glass.

Before I know it, Percy is taking the glass from my hand and pulling me closer, long arms wrapping around my torso. He cradles my head against his chest in a way that's strangely protective, in a way that I should probably reject.

But I can't control it anymore. I can't bite my tongue and sour my face and pretend like it doesn't hurt. I let myself cry instead, my tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. The whole time I'm trying to talk, but everything that leaves my mouth is a half-crazed string of mumblings and stutters. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. I didn't mean to. Wasn't trying to. Didn't want to…to…only wanted to hurt him. Said I'm sorry.

"I…it doesn't matter what you did. Not to me," he mumbles, unsure of what to say to comfort me. "I-I've done shitty things too. A lot of terrible things. But I guess…I guess I just mean you're not alone. I won't judge you…" he manages, his own eyes going glassy in the process.

The tears slow over the course of the next few minutes. His hand is on my back now, rubbing soothing circles through the roughness of my jacket.

"I…why don't w-we just go to sleep? It's late and you're…kind of a mess."

We lie back, just like last time. My head rests on his chest, cheek pressed close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his body.

"Just…promise me you'll still be here when I wake up? We can talk more in the morning," he murmurs in the moments before sleep.

I bite my lip, but I eventually nod in response. Still, I'm not sure if my attitude will change in the morning. I don't know if I'll wake up and realize that I can't stay, that I can't talk to him. I don't know if I'll roll out of my bed and grab my things and shadow-travel to another city. Maybe I'll try Seattle next.

Is this going to be an endless cycle? Am I just destined to come see him every few weeks, spectacularly drunk? Am I always going to leave the morning after?

Sleep takes me before I can come up with an answer.


	11. Mokena

PERCY

Mokena- Real Friends

He's still in my arms when I wake up.

I'm completely shocked to find him there, curled up against my side and fast asleep. I half expected…no, I fully expected him to be gone by the time I woke up, along with the other bottle of vodka he'd brought. But, apparently that wasn't the case.

I crane my neck to the side carefully, not wanting to shift too far and disturb him. I catch sight of the alarm clock. It's only 8'oclock, still pretty early considering how late it'd been when he showed up.

I sigh and bite my lip, unsure of what to do.

Part of me wants to stay here forever, surrounded by all these impossibly comforting sensations. The weight of his head on my chest. The scant amount of warmth rolling off his body. The soft puff of his slow, deep breaths against my neck. I'd forgotten just how good it felt to sleep next to someone. It'd been months since…since…

No. Deep breaths…don't think of her. Think of him, focus on his breathing and his presence right next to you. You don't want to wake him up, right?

But…but he'll have to wake up eventually and I could take this as a chance to do the right thing. I still have time to slip out of bed and run down to the dining pavilion to grab two plates of food, for the both of us because gods know we need to eat. And I could run them back up here with the hope that Nico won't wake up while I'm gone. And then…we can talk? I can try to convince him to stick around?

I don't even know if that's possible at this point. He's been gone for so long, and not just the past few weeks. He's always been a wanderer, always in and out of camp, never quite fitting in or getting used to the routine.

I just don't know I can find the words to make him stay; I don't know if anyone can. If anything, maybe Will could convince him…but that would me turning him back towards Will…and away from me.

And for some reason, that makes me feel sick.

I take a deep breath before finally making up my mind. I'm gonna go get food and I'm going to sit Nico down and convince him to talk to Will so that he'll stay at camp where he'll be safe and where…where maybe I can talk to him too.

I slowly shimmy out of bed, glad that he's the one closest to the wall. He barely seems to notice I'm gone, only grumbling a bit when I have to pick his arm up off my chest. Without me in the bed, he flops over onto his stomach, legs kicking weakly under the blankets as he gets comfortable again. I should probably make this fast…

I walk over to my dresser and fish through the drawers until I find a set of clothes that aren't too dirty. I turn to look over my shoulder one last time, just to make sure he's still asleep, before stripping and changing.

I slip out the door, making sure to shut it quietly instead of letting it slam like usual. There don't seem to be a lot of people around the cabins at this point, so they must already be eating. Ideally I would've woken up just a little bit earlier, just in time to grab some food without having to face basically the entire camp. But there isn't much I can do about that now.

Nobody approaches me at first, and I'm left to fill up my plates in peace. Well, people are watching me, of course, but that's kind of expected at this point. I fill up my own plate, though the portion size isn't close I used to eat. Still, it's pretty impressive that I'm willingly eating breakfast, even if it's because I know I have to as opposed to actually being hungry.

I'm not entirely sure what to get for Nico though, so I fill the plate up with toast and fruit. I feel like I'd seen him eat that before, but they seem like safe options regardless. Who doesn't like toast?

I've neared the end of the buffet line before Jason gets up to talk to me. He stands awkwardly near the little boxes of cereal, pretending to be interested in the brightly colored stacks, like he's trying to choose one.

"Hey," he tries, obviously unsure of how to approach this whole mess. It's been days since I last saw him. I end up nodding in response.

His eyes narrow in on the two plates in my hand, one piled with bacon and eggs, the other with toast and fruit. It's not really a lot of food to most people, but I can see why Jason would be a little confused at me eating so much. But I'm not about to reveal Nico's secret, so I'll have to come up with a lie.

"Just…hungry is all," I answer lamely, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying not to seem too awkward.

"Uh, that's good then," he replies, briefly making eye contact with Piper, who was sat down a few tables away. She raises a questioning eyebrow in return.

"See you around," I stutter quickly, steering myself down the center aisle while his back is turned. It's definitely, well, frowned upon to take food out of the dining pavilion, but people tend to do it anyway. At this point, I'm even more liable to get a pass on it.

By the time I made it back to my cabin, Nico's already awake, curled up on his side, facing the door.

"I brought breakfast," I say, awkwardly holding the plates up a little.

"Not hungry," he mumbles,

"Believe me, I get the whole 'not being hungry' thing, but you should really eat something," I reply, brow furrowing with concern. He definitely looked like he could use it, and it's not like I've brought him a massive breakfast. His plate is just toast and some fruit, that's all.

"I said I'm not hungry," he mumbles again, burying his face in my pillow.

"C'mon, at least try."

"I really can't," he chokes out, . "If I ate that much…it'd just come back up."

"I...wow. H-how long?" I ask, throat going all thick as I sit down next to him. He scoots up into a semi-seated position to join me, body still wrapped up in my thick comforter.

"Dunno," he shrugs, dropping his eyes in shame. "Haven't been normal about it in a long time, but it got…it got a lot worse after Tartarus. Couldn't keep much of anything down after...after basically starving and well…still can't."

I glance at him again, my eyes scanning up and down his body. It's the first time in a long time that I've gotten to see him in decent light without any other distractions. Sure, he's thinner than I ever remember him being. And he's always been a small kid but...but the way his collarbone, exposed beneath the neckline of his baggy t-shirt, strains against the pale skin can't exactly be considered healthy. Still, it doesn't seem to add up. The image in front of me doesn't exactly line up with someone that's gone nearly two months without a proper meal.

"I do eat," he mumbles defensively in answer to my unasked question. "Just…not a lot…and not often. And…it's mostly just ambrosia. That's the only thing keeping my body from going totally haywire, according to…to Will. It was supposed to be a temporary fix until we could start reintegrating food but…yeah."

"You know that's kinda crazy, right?" I reply, unsure of what I could possibly say at this point. What he's doing is absurdly dangerous, but it's not like I have any better advice. If Will thought it was a decent plan, then it couldn't possibly be that bad. Still, I snatch a piece of dry toast off his plate and hold it out to him, urging him to at least try.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," he sighs under his breath, nibbling at the corner of the toast.

"Because…you probably need some to talk to," I venture after a long pause, sparing him another quick glance. I really don't want to presume why he's here, but I have to try something,

"Yeah, and who have you been talking to?" he bites back, a hint of venom seeping into his voice.

I frown at that because honestly...it's not like he's wrong. I know that I've been shutting myself out and that it's probably not the best thing for me to do. I...I know that nothing I'm doing is ever going to help me move on. I just don't feel like I have anyone to talk to anymore.

"Sorry. I…shouldn't have snapped like that. I'm just…I don't know," he trails off, listlessly gesturing with his hands. Sighing again, he leans over the edge of the bed and scoops up his abandoned backpack. After a few seconds of pawing through its meager contents, he pulls out a battered carton of cigarettes and a Zippo. He smacks the pack against his palm a few times before slipping one out and immediately depositing it between his parted lips.

"Want one?" he mumbles around the cigarette, shifting it to the corner of his mouth for a moment while he shakes out a second.

"Nah, I'm…uh…good. I've never really tried."

"No better time than the present," he replies offhandedly, placing the cigarette in my hand regardless of whether I actually wanted it in the first place. I roll it between my fingers for a moment while he fumbles with the lighter, which doesn't seem to be working. After a couple tries he gives up and curses softly under his breath. He tosses the lighter away in annoyance, metal clanging as it skids across the hardwood floor and hits the far wall.,

"I don't suppose you have a lighter?" he ventures, groaning as he leans his head against the wall.

"Uh, gimme a sec," I reply, hauling myself off the bed. I'd hidden the weed Oliver had gifted me weeks ago at the bottom of my dresser drawer, too paranoid to keep it anywhere else and entirely too nervous to use it. I fish through the contents of the outer Ziploc bag and pull out the lighter. It's a cheap, plastic Bic one, but it'll get the job done. I toss it towards him, and he expertly lights the cigarette with a practiced hand.

"Thought you don't smoke," he muses, eyebrow raised, as the first puffs of smoke swirl above him. He holds the second out to me, it's tip glowing softly.

I settle back down next to him, our knees bumping together awkwardly. I watch him, side-eyed, for a minute as I try to memorize his motions. Once he's taken a few drags, I try to mimic what I watched him do. I thought it would be fine; it couldn't possibly be that hard.

I was wrong. Instead, I end up hacking up a lung, gasping for breath.

And he chuckles. He actually chuckles at my misfortune. It's weak and throaty and devolves into soft coughing by the end, but I'm immediately taken aback by the sound. It's not the kind of thing that should be coming from him. Nico doesn't laugh; he doesn't even smile most of the time.

"Guess you weren't lying," he wheezes, shaking his head as the last remnants of his laughter fade away. He takes the time to explain the actual mechanics of the whole thing. It takes a few more tries before I get the hang of it, but eventually I manage a drag with minimal coughing. By that point though we'd settled into an easy silence.

I've noticed that about him, the silence. He doesn't feel the need to fill these interactions with words. We can just…exist together. And it should feel good, having him there for company. There's no pressure anymore, since he already kinda knows about everything.

But I don't have time for silence right now. There are so many questions floating through my head. Mostly I just wonder…why. Why, after weeks with no contact, did he suddenly show up in my cabin in the middle of the night, drunk no less? And, more importantly, why come to me and not Will?

"What are you doing here? Really?" I ask, breaking the quiet air of the room. All I get in response is another noncommittal shrug.

"Are…are you going to see him?" I ask tentatively. I know I'm playing the pronoun game, but he must understand who I mean.

"I…I don't know," he confesses, raking a hand through his tangled hair.

"He's, like, completely lost without you," I try to reason with him. It isn't a lie. Lately Will has been shutting himself away, just like me, just like Nico. I'm sure it's at least partially in order to recover from his concussion. Chiron and the rest of the campers agreed that he really shouldn't be overexerting himself, so they let him take a break from his infirmary duties, but that doesn't explain the skipped meals or the constant naps. Nico just…leaving…like that must have screwed with him emotionally.

Still, all I get is an exasperated scoff.

"No, seriously. He doesn't actually remember your fight. All he knows is that you guys fought, that things got out of hand and that…that you just suddenly dropped off the face of the planet without saying goodbye,"

His brows knit together in confusion. "H-he…doesn't remember?" he asks, eyes finally flickering up to mine.

I shake my head and watch as a dozen different emotions fly across his face. Confusion, then sadness, a flash of anger and a wave apprehension. He bites his lip, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers.

"Do…do you love him?" I ask tentatively, trying to steer the conversation. Honestly, I don't even know how I want him to answer. I just want him to be happy, and if that means him being with Will…well, then I can't be mad. If it'll get him to stay at camp…then I'm in no position to keep him from Will.

Still, he looks apprehensive. Admittedly, I don't know a lot about their relationship. I think that, on a surface level at least, Will seems to love him a lot. I think that's clear from the way he kissed him that morning, from the way he's mourned Nico's sudden departure. But he…he also hurt Nico, whether he meant to or not. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forget those bruises on his wrist, stark against his pale skin. I-I couldn't image hurting…hurting Annabeth. And I'd loved her so much, once.

I swallow hard and glance over in his direction. Finding the right words is…difficult. I don't want to push him back towards something toxic, but I also don't want him to needlessly ruin something that could bring him genuine happiness.

"If the answer is even maybe, I really think you should go talk to him. I mean, you still can. He's still here; you still have a chance to fix things if…if you think they can be fixed, that is," I finally manage.

"I-I want to," he answers shakily, throat constricting his voice in a weird way. Whether that's an answer to loving him or wanting to fix things, I'm not sure.

"Then you have to try," I assure him. Even though it's a bit early, I lean over him and grab the partially empty bottle of vodka from last night and pour him a shot. Hopefully it'll give him a rush of confidence.

"C'mon, take the shot and go. Everyone else is at breakfast, so you'll probably be able to get him alone," I urge him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Steeling himself, he tosses back the shot with a grimace and shoves the glass towards my outstretched hand. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it and hauling himself off the bed. He makes a beeline for the door, leaving behind all of his stuff.

He hesitates at the doorknob for a moment, hand trembling like he's trying to force himself to grip it properly. He looks over his shoulder, like he's asking for one final reassurance.

"Go," I urge him, my own voice going tight as well. A small part of me isn't sure if this is the right decision. That part of me…it's telling me to keep him here forever, where he's safe and won't be forced to deal with his situation. But he can't keep running forever.

And..and I know Will is probably his best chance at being happy.

At least…I think so.


End file.
